


The Care and Keeping of A HITMAN: The Quintessential Guide to Raising a Daughter Assassin

by yohms_law



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adolescent Sexuality, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming of Age, Dark Comedy, Families of Choice, Family Bonding, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, Light-Hearted, Multi, SO MUCH FLUFF, Self-Discovery, Team as Family, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27924688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yohms_law/pseuds/yohms_law
Summary: 47 could only wish such a manual existed. He hadn’t realized he was signing up for a full-blown therapy session with his ward when he agreed to get her out of the house for the day. Having recently passed the Initiate program, Victoria is well on her way to becoming a fully-fledged assassin in her own right. But some things still haunt her about her past, things that she wishes she could talk about with parents she doesn't have. 47 doesn't feel fully equipped to handle all her baggage...he can barely figure out his own.
Relationships: Agent 47 & Diana Burnwood, Agent 47 & Victoria, Diana Burnwood & Victoria
Comments: 13
Kudos: 50





	1. Victoria

Victoria peered through her sniper scope, aiming at the forest clearing across the valley, and fired. A bright pink can flew through the air and landed somewhere on the forest floor. She lowered her weapon, frowning. _Damn_ , she thought, _missed the target by a hair_. The can was supposed to have burst apart, but instead she must have just grazed it.

47 fired off three rounds beside her in rapid succession, hitting every single mark. She swore and picked up the Sharpie beside her, tallying up points for him and deducting points from her own total.

It was part of their routine these days, to train together whenever they were both in between missions. Victoria used to hate being dragged around by 47, frustrated by the rigor of his strict training. Now that she was a fully-fledged field agent of her own, she had come to appreciate all the guidance that her mentor offered her. She enjoyed the quiet time they spent together. It was a uniquely twisted father-daughter bonding that she was sure no one else had. Today, however, she was growing increasingly frustrated at her low hit rate.

“You’re off today,” he said, matter-of-fact. She groaned. He was right, of course: she _was_ off. But she didn’t need him to point it out. She remembered there was a time she used to talk 47’s ear off because she was terrified of sitting in silence with him. Now that she was older, he was more willing to engage in her conversations just as she had learned to enjoy his quiet. She sometimes wished he would _stay_ quiet though…

“It’s really nothing,” she said, wiping her brow with a leathered hand. She rolled up the sleeves on her mock turtle neck, the crisp cool April air feeling good on her skin. “I just have something on my mind.” She squatted back into position, adjusting her scope.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No, that’s okay. I already talked to Diana about it.”

“Alright,” he replied, “well, if you aren’t going to tell me about it then stop wasting bullets.”

Victoria winced. She had learned to not take any offense by his brusque comments, but it still stung. They each fired off another six rounds, and she tallied up another handful of points, noting with dismay at the widening spread between them.

“Agent Flare has been in the spotlight lately,” 47 said, reloading his sniper. “I read up on the latest case file. Good work.” Victoria pursed her lips and held back a grin, not wanting to seem too eager. Flare was the chosen codename Victoria had taken when she had passed the Initiate program. She was given a few simple assignments when an interesting case arrived on her handler’s desk in which the client had specifically asked that a young woman fulfill. Despite her lack of experience, the contract went off with extreme success, the Board themselves giving her high praise. Victoria was quickly developing a reputation as a first-rate seductress and vamp—a very specific classification of assassin and one that Victoria enjoyed very much.

Still, hearing affirmation from her mentor meant more to her than any Board approval.

“How’s the black eye?” 47 asked, pulling her out of her reverie. She frowned at that question. How typical of him to give her a compliment and a critique in almost the same breath.

“Fine,” she grumbled. Of course, being a first-rate seductress came with its own unique set of occupational hazards. She patted around her eye gingerly. It was still tender to the touch, but thankfully Victoria’s unique biology meant that it would heal on its own given another day or two. Most of the ugly swelling and bruising just looked like a weird yellow birthmark.

“Diana didn’t seem to think it was fine yesterday,” he said, which annoyed Victoria further. _Of course_ he was bringing it up now because Diana had said something to him earlier. 47 hadn’t seen the worst of the injury, but in truth it was looking much better than it had the day before when Diana had picked her up from Heathrow.

Victoria would never admit this to Diana—who had freaked out when she first saw it—but she had her own self to blame for that injury. The client had warned in the mission briefing that the target was known for domestic violence—violence which had led to the death of his mistress and had in turn spurred on the late-mistress’ extremely wealthy father to hire an assassin to take care of the problem permanently.

“Don’t you go ragging on me, too,” Victoria replied.

“Diana cares about you.”

“I know, I know, she’s constantly reminding me she didn’t want me in this life to begin with. I just…”

“Just what?” he prompted, when she said nothing after trailing off into silence.

“It’s nothing. Thanks for asking about it, it’s fine,” she said curtly. She fired off another six rounds and swore when she missed all six.

“You’re getting worse,” 47 said, pointing out the obvious.

“Thanks,” she replied sarcastically.

“Is this really about the black eye or is there something else going on?”

Victoria felt her face go hot, knowing this was bound to come up eventually. She had been dodging this conversation with 47 while knowing full well he was probably the only person who would understand. They sat and sniped in silence for a few more rounds before Victoria blurted out something she immediately regretted: “It’s, uhh…I’m having boy troubles, I guess?”

47 fired a shot that completely missed the mark—his first miss of the day. “Boyfriend troubles? I wasn’t aware you had a boyfriend—”

“—I don’t! It’s not boy- _friend_ troubles, just _boy_ troubles,” she corrected.

“Victoria,” 47 said in a warning tone. She knew how much he disliked her beating around the bush. She growled, frustrated. She shot another couple rounds, hitting some cans clumsily.

She took a deep sigh before admitting her predicament: “I am frustrated that I am going down a path that is just going to disappoint Diana more and more. And I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“You’re not a disappointment to Diana.”

“Well, I feel like I am.”

“What does this have to do with boy troubles?”

“I just feel like if I liked boys, I would be able to have a normal life, but I don’t like boys so I’m never going to be able to do the things that normal girls do.”

47 lowered his scope and blinked slowly, processing the information. “…do you like girls?” he asked awkwardly. Victoria facepalmed herself. “Because that shouldn’t stop you from having a normal life either.” Victoria wanted to die. This was exactly why she had been avoiding this conversation with him.

“That is _not_ the point,” she said frantically.

“But do you?”

“ _Noo!_ ”

“Then what is the point? I’m a little lost.”

Victoria couldn’t answer him. She wanted to answer him, but once again felt like she didn’t know where to begin. She could see from her periphery that he was staring at her. His icy stare and blank expression revealed nothing about what he was thinking. He looked up at the overcast sky and noted the time on his watch. It was still early enough in the day to keep going for at least few more hours.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s set up at a second vantage point. Talk to me when we get there.”

They packed up their snipers neatly into their designated over-the-shoulder carrying cases and ziplined down the mountain side. 47 dismounted elegantly. Victoria underestimated her momentum and almost tumbled into a tree upon dismount. She was grateful he didn’t critique her bad form as he was sometimes prone to do when she swore he was intentionally trying to be annoying. Together, they worked around the mountainside, picking battered up brightly colored cans that were once targets.

Victoria loved the art of sniping. It was elegant and sexy and very satisfying when it all played out seamlessly. But sniping practice? Sniping practice was honestly _the worst_. Just the set up alone was tedious work. Between painting targets offsite, arranging the targets in the designated terrain, climbing up to a high vantage point, and then cleaning up after themselves, they could be working from dawn to dusk with little respite in between. 47 wasn’t fond of taking breaks either—he said it was unrealistic to expect a break in a real stakeout—so she often had to improvise with sneaking a quick bathroom break when he wasn’t hovering or eating whatever snacks fit in her pockets.

She pulled out a granola bar now, munching on it as she picked up another piece of trash that they created and tossed it into her duffel. 47 approached her from behind, his backpack full of empty cans jangling around noisily. He didn’t say anything, but she could tell by the way he cocked his head sideways that he was asking if she was ready to go. She nodded, her mouth full of granola, her head buzzing with disordered thoughts.

They hiked in silence, following along the River Rheidol. The Welsh valley stretched out before them, lush and expansive. They headed for another site that 47 had set up long before she had ever joined him. She often wondered how he set up these camps. She assumed that he must have used this mountain range as personal training grounds for years and set up the ziplines himself. Still, to do so away from the prying eyes of tourists was a mystery to her. He was a man of many odd talents.

When they reached another zipline base, he said: “Stick to a quarter mile radius,” and walked off into the forest clearing on his own. She worked to place cans all around her, climbing trees, sneaking them in bushes, and hopping across a creek. They regrouped after they each finished placing their empty cans around the clearing and hooked themselves to the pulley. They hoisted themselves up the zipline, working against gravity to make it to the summit. It was an exhausting exercise. She always dismounted panting heavily. 47 seemed completely unfazed, as though he could have climbed up a second mountain with both of their packs and still been fine.

“Eight rounds, forty-eight targets. Make them count,” he said, unpacking his gun. She nodded, removing her ziplining gloves and buckling on her regulation leather gloves. Finally, they could get around to the fun part: shooting.

They both fired off a round in silence, Victoria keeping score diligently.

“You’re not a disappointment,” he said when she went to reload.

Her lips twitched sideways. “Well, she loves to nag about everything I do lately,” Victoria snapped. “I come home with a blackeye and she lectures me on how _you_ would have avoided the confrontation in the first place. The case file comes back in on how I seduced some prick and she has to pick a fight with me questioning my methods.”

47 said nothing, letting her blow off steam.

“I mean, c’mon,” Victoria continued, “she’s never even been out on the field before, she has no idea what it’s like!”

47 frowned at that. “I wouldn’t say that’s true.”

Victoria rolled her eyes. “Oh please, like being an undercover nurse for a little while is really all that hard.”

“You don’t think that’s field work?”

Victoria didn’t want to say what she was thinking, knowing 47 would reproach her.

“Being a double agent is dangerous. She could have been killed.” Victoria sighed, shaking her head. He always took her side. Always. “You should really give her more credit. Besides, I’m not really sure what all this has to do with boy troubles,” he said.

“What?”

47 cocked an eyebrow at her. “Boy troubles? You were saying earlier—”

“—Oh, right, that…” She let out another deep sigh, then said: “Okay, you have to promise me you’ll just listen.”

47 gave her a look as if to say he was offended she was implying he was a bad listener.

“Oh, don’t give me that, 47! It’s one snarky comment after another with you!”

He turned back to his scope and fired six more perfect shots. “If you promise to get to your point, I promise to listen,” he grumbled.

Victoria fired six shots, most of them shaky at best. “Okay, okay…” She considered what the straightest line through the story was, knowing it probably wasn’t going to be snappy enough for 47 regardless. “When Diana first brought me to London to live with her,” she began, “she thought the best thing for me was to go to school. Y’know…to make friends my own age, I guess.”

“I remember,” 47 replied, checking his scope. “You tested above your class. The headmaster wanted you to enroll into a more advanced grade, but Diana insisted she wanted you to start as a freshman.” Victoria looked at 47, blinking. She was surprised he already knew all of this. He looked at her when she didn’t continue with her story. “Diana kept me up to date. Remember the suspension for the fish tank incident?”

Her cheeks singed pink. “You know about that?” Victoria had accidentally shattered and destroyed the giant saltwater tank that was the pride of the science department. She had effectively killed all the sea life, not to mention the amount of water damage caused from all flooding. All for a stupid dare. Suffice to say: Diana had not been pleased.

“I know plenty.” He took another shot, neon green can whizzing to the ground. “You were very popular,” he recalled.

“Was I?” Victoria scoffed, doubtful.

“I think I remember Diana fretting over what to do when you got invited to your first party.”

Victoria let out a laugh. “Oh my gosh, I forgot about that! She almost didn’t let me go. Wonder what made her change her mind at the last minute…”

“Oh, well, I told her she should let you go.”

Victoria watched as 47 reloaded another cartridge, her expression of clear surprise. She blushed happily, grateful to know that he had sometimes been in her back corner after all. “Thanks,” she said appreciatively.

He shrugged, concentrating on another shot. He slowly squeezed the trigger.

“Well, anyway… I ended up losing my virginity at that party.”

47 missed his mark entirely, his bullet hitting a tree branch to the left of the can and startling a flock of birds. He turned bright red, clearly dismayed that his “cool parent” advice came back to haunt him years later.

“I-I see… That’s—”

“ _Nononono_ —I didn’t mean it to come out like that!” Victoria said frantically. “This all has a point, I promise!”

“Then get to it.”

“I, uhh…” she started again, “I didn’t really have fun. With the sex. I didn’t have fun having sex. So when I tried again I still didn’t have any fun and then I thought well maybe I’m gay…”

“If the point of all this is to come out of the closet, Victoria, there are other ways of telling me without us having to walk through your sex life from start to finish.”

“Jesus Christ, 47…” She felt her face grow very hot, and glanced over at him to see he was also embarrassed.

She heard him sigh. “I can listen, I promise. You have a point you’re trying to make…”

“No, I’m sorry.” She rubbed her brow. “You’re right I’m doing a bad job at this.” She set her rifle down and sat on the floor cross legged, burying her chin into the heels of her palms.

47 remained silent. Victoria began again: “When I moved here with her, I thought getting away from Chicago would mean having the chance at a fresh start. I wanted to be a normal girl; I really did. I took on Diana’s last name. I got good grades. I thought about throwing away the isotope necklace. Diana told me that I could hold onto it for as long as I wanted and to get rid of it when I felt ready.”

“But you never did,” he concluded. Victoria watched 47’s gaze drift from her eyes to the pendant around her neck. She nodded, clutching the necklace.

“No, I-I didn’t…” she agreed. “I just couldn’t shake the thought that no matter how hard I tried, I would never be a normal girl.” She swallowed hard, scared that 47 could read her mind, but already too far in deep to end there. “So anyway, then all my friends started dating boys, so I thought I had to start dating, so I went out with this guy—”

“—Michael,” 47 supplied.

“Yes… Michael,” she said, again alarmed that 47 seemed to know a great deal more than she ever realized about her adolescence.

“You know Diana hated Michael, right?”

“Yes, I _know_ Diana hated Michael,” Victoria said exasperatedly, “we ALL hated Michael Dawson, okay?! But he was seventeen and drove a car, and my friends thought he was cool.”

“He was a thug.”

“He was a frat boy in way over his head,” Victoria corrected.

“But?”

Victoria shook her head. “But… Kissing boys felt weird to me. Kissing girls felt just as weird to me. It wasn’t fun. I didn’t hate it, I guess? But…I just felt…nothing.”

47 stared into his scope, but he had stopped firing. He seemed to be concentrating very hard, and it intimidated her to know he was concentrating on her. She had asked him to listen, but was frightened by him actually fulfilling her request.

“And then…” Victoria said with a sigh, cringing about what she was ready to tell him: “And then all my friends started getting their periods.”

47 shifted his weight from one foot to another. Victoria watched him warily, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable by the direction the conversation was headed. He looked at her, and he seemed to know. She took his silence as an invitation to continue to babble—old habits die hard.

“I cried to Diana when all the girls at school had their boobs come in, but she really fixated on the period thing. She didn’t say she was worried, but I could tell she was worried, ‘cause she got all fussy—I mean, you know how she gets—and she got really obsessive over my diet, had me eating all the time, at least five or six times a day, but when putting on a few pounds did nothing we went to see all kinds of experts.”

Victoria fiddled with her isotope pendant. “Well, of course the doctors asked about my family history, but they couldn’t know about that. So then she asked me how far I really wanted to go with this, told me that she could hire some Agency doctor to figure this out for me under the radar…but I got scared. Told her I didn’t want to know. She…she dropped it. Because I begged her to.”

47 said nothing.

“I never did get my period.” She stared at her hands. “Twenty years old and I still haven’t gotten a period.” Victoria felt her throat tighten. “Did Diana tell you about all that?” she asked, accusingly.

“No,” he said quietly. “She never told me.”

“Great! Glad one thing of my private life stayed private,” she said with a bitter laugh. “I just… I started to have all these fears. Like what if…what if the doctors made me this way? On purpose? What if they took my sex drive away from me? What good am I as a normal person if I can’t even love like a normal girl?”

Victoria shifted back to her feet, and realigned her sniper back on the crook of her elbow. 47 again remained silent.

“I know Diana wanted to protect me…but maybe I would have been better off just staying with the doctors—”

“—don’t say that,” 47 snapped, almost sounding angry. “She did what she thought was best for you.” His expression turned dark. “She was willing to die for you.”

Victoria swallowed hard, realizing she had crossed a line, but not sorry she felt that way. “You wanted to know what was on my mind. Well here it is: I was born to be a killer. And Diana is upset with that. And I’m frustrated.” She peered through her scope and fired another few rounds, this time making them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Replaying Hitman (2016) and I'm getting hyped for Hitman 3. Decided that writing would be a healthy outlet for all the creative energy, so here we are. Victoria is a fun character to speculate about. She doesn't get enough love!
> 
> Title is a reference to The Care and Keeping of You, an American Girl book that was truly important in my formative years............................. LOL!


	2. 47

47 rubbed the back of his head as he watched Victoria obediently clean up camp. He hadn’t realized he was signing up for a full-blown therapy session with his ward when he agreed to get her out of the house for the day. Diana did fill him in on a lot over the years—probably too much—about the care and keeping of Victoria. It had been a challenge from the start. Victoria was always very precocious. She got into all kinds of mischief at school, which distressed Diana to no end. Despite her insistence that Victoria stick to a regular schedule in school, she still flew through all her classes and graduated early.

She was barely seventeen when she decided she wanted to move out. Diana let her, although she didn’t really have much of a choice. Then there were what 47 had called the lost years, where Victoria cut all contact from them. 47 had never seen Diana so upset. He had offered to take up a contract as an excuse to go search for her, but it was decided between the two of them that they let Victoria go. Figure out her own path for a while.

The events with Providence had forced unlikely allies to turn up from the woodwork, including Lucas Grey, and Victoria among them. 47 flipped through his archived memories, reliving the day they unexpectedly ran into her on a mission. Diana had never broken her professionalism before, but he remembered vividly the sound of her voice cracking when they confirmed an ID. He couldn’t say he was aware Diana had tear ducts before that moment.

Now Victoria was a woman grown, and she had all of Diana’s best qualities: she was elegant, stylish, ambitious and smart—too smart for her own good. She had even somehow inherited Diana’s athleticism and cunning. Diana was an excellent field agent in her own right, even if Victoria didn’t want to admit it. But she also had all of Diana’s worst impulses: stubborn and willing to bend every rule in the book to get what she wanted.

He sighed. They would both be annoyed if he ever told them they were alike in almost every way. What was he to do about the Burnwood women, he wondered.

They ziplined down the mountain to proceed with cleaning up their battered cans. Victoria stormed off in silence, and he didn’t try to stop her. 47 understood how Victoria felt—he better than anyone else. More archived memories flipped through his mind palace. He remembered questioning his existence to his own father-figure, the Padre. He remembered all the feelings of self-loathing, and doubt. How he himself had tried to walk the path of redemption, but ultimately felt trapped by his fate. There were still nights he lay awake, existential dread and fear taking over, wondering if he even had a soul. And he remembered the feeling of deep loneliness, the sense that there was no one in the world who could understand him.

He didn’t want her to go through it alone like he had. It had taken a lot of courage for her to confide in him. Perhaps it was time he confide in her, too.

When all was packed, they shrugged on their trench coats, the cool air now starting to bite again, and began their trek back to the car. They walked side-by-side, taking their time to navigate the rugged Ceredigion terrain. Their camps were deep into unbeaten path, a way to keep unknowing tourists from stumbling upon them on accident. He gazed up at the sky, grey and gloomy, and thought about what he should say to her. He never believed in beating around the bush—he had scolded Victoria countless times for doing just that.

“I don’t have much of a sex drive,” 47 heard himself admitting. Victoria’s head snapped up. They were so far gone into TMI Territory that he felt like it was okay to confess.

“Your Uncle Grey doesn’t have one either,” he continued. “I think you’re right, by the way. I think the Ort-Meyer notes specifically outline removing libido as a necessary means for producing an assassin capable of overcoming emotional distress…or something to that effect.” He spoke of his condition clinically, matter-of-fact. Diana had always said she hated it when he spoke of himself like a science experiment, but he couldn’t help it. It was who he was. Literally.

Victoria said nothing, a pained look on her face. Did she hate the way he spoke about it too?

“As for your stunted puberty… I can’t really say. Ort-Meyer had forty-eight subjects to play with that we know of. Male subjects. You being female is…”

“Uncharted territory?” she supplied. 47 gave her a non-committal hum.

“Benjamin Travis was the scum of the earth, but he wasn’t stupid. He probably thought it didn’t make sense for an agent to have to be burdened with the ability to carry children.”

“ ‘Burdened’…with the ability?” she repeated quietly.

He frowned and rubbed the back of his head. “That’s…not what I meant.”

He looked over at Victoria, who was staring at her feet as they walked. She kicked every twig and leaf she saw, her Doc Martens combat boots starting to get caked in mud.

“Am I upsetting you?” She looked up at him, then stared off into the clearing.

“No, I’m not upset with you…but I am mad at _them_ ,” Victoria admitted, anger singeing her voice. Her hands balled into tight fists at her side. “I’m so mad they made me this way. Why did they make me this way? I’m so mad I…I…” she stopped speaking, pressing her fists to her eyes before jerking away from her own hands. She had forgotten about her own black eye, and it irritated her now.

She growled and spit out: “I wish I could kill them all!” She turned on 47, her green eyes full of poison. “Am I a disappointment to you too now?” He stared at her, blinking slowly.

“No,” he simply said. Far be it for him to judge her. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?” she said angrily.

“If I could go back,” he replied calmly, “I would have let you kill them all yourself. I’ve robbed you of your revenge. I’ve taken that choice away from you.” She swallowed hard. It was a twisted father-daughter relationship they had, one that was disturbed and crazy. What father talked to their daughter of killing all those who wronged her? And yet, it was their relationship all the same.

She stopped walking, and he turned to see her staring at her hands. “Am I even human?” she said in a quiet voice, sounding so small. 47 didn’t know how to answer her.

The overcast sky finally gave way to a light drizzle. 47 said: “If I’m human then you must be human, too.”

She nodded, but didn’t move. He took a step towards her and lifted the hood of her trench coat onto her head for her. Her lip quivered as she spoke. “What should I do now?”

He looked up at the sky, letting the rain fall on his face. The cold water prickled his skin. “The best revenge is to survive. Outlast them all. And,” he added, pulling up his own hood, “learn to love. Love with what you have. Even if it’s not the love they gave you…love anyway.”

He watched her tremble, crying softly. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder…

…and realized something. 47 couldn’t believe they had been together all day and he hadn’t noticed until just now: “Is this Diana’s coat?” Victoria looked up at him and nodded dejectedly.

“Is now really the time for this?” she said, looking miserable.

“I-I'm not trying to give you a hard time here it’s just—”

“I was so mad at her this morning I did something I knew would piss her off,” she admitted, sobbing, the tears now flowing freely in giant globs down her face from the overwhelming mixed emotions: her guilt of being frustrated at Diana; anger at her origins; and agony over her own insecurities about her body and sexuality. 47 pursed his lips. He was sympathetic, but he also couldn’t help wanting to laugh at the situation. It was well known to those closest to Diana that she had a not-so-hidden shopping addiction for any luxury brand apparel. Nothing infuriated her more than people messing around in her closet. For Victoria to do something so petty and admit to it meant she was very sorry indeed.

“Burberry, huh?” he said, checking the seams, admiring the high-quality stitch work. It was also an open secret that 47 had a shopping addiction of his own. It was probably the only truly toxic part of their friendship; he and Diana enabled each other somewhat in that regard. “We should get you your own,” he said, buttoning up his own fine black Burberry trench coat.

She wiped her tears on the back of her hand, and for a moment he was reminded of the first time they ever met: a sad lost little girl, feeling like she had no one looking out for her in the whole world. “Will Diana be mad at me?” she said in a small voice.

He put his other arm around her shoulders, holding her tight. “No, Diana could never be mad at you.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “She was mad about me dating Michael Dawson,” she pointed out, her voice muffled from being pressed against his chest.

“Well…” He couldn’t argue with her there. “Maybe she’ll get over it some day.” He rubbed her back reassuringly.

“You know why she hated him, right?”

“Yes.”

“She hated him because he stole jewelry from me and split,” Victoria said, feeling the need to clarify anyway.

“I know.”

“She’s never going to get over it, will she?”

“No.”

Victoria groaned into his chest, squeezing him tighter. He stood there with her, letting her cry softly.

“We should go,” he said eventually, feeling like getting out of the rain was best for them long term. She agreed. They continued walking until they found 47’s Land Rover Defender, covered in leaves and tree branches. Together, they worked to clear off the foliage. He helped her pack her belongings into the trunk of the car. 47 remembered Diana rolling her eyes at the purchase—it was an obnoxiously large car for downtown London, and where would he keep such a thing, surely not in _her_ parking garage?—but he had felt it had been a worthwhile purchase given the amount he now visited. And anyway, he lived for the finer things in life.

He walked to a nearby stump and used an old towel to wipe his combat boots clean of all the mud and debris collected from the day’s activities. He glanced over at Victoria, who was obediently doing the same a ways away, indulging in his small neurotic habits.

He offered her the car keys when she was finished, but she declined them—a testament to how low she was feeling given he knew how much she liked driving it. They got into the car. He glanced to his left at Victoria, fiddling with her isotope pendant, looking forlorn and sad. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“You should know,” he said, pressing down on the engine start button, “you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” He hesitated, feeling stupid. He was a man of few words, and yet he felt like he had so much to say. “I can’t have children either—I don’t think—you’re the closest thing I’ve got. I…I am glad you are you. Exactly as you are.” He stared at the steering wheel, the car on, but still left on park. “I could never be disappointed in you, no matter what choices you make.” He felt his face go hot, not sure of what came over him. Victoria stared out the window and said nothing. He could see from her reflection that she was crying. He frowned. Had he made things worse?

“Thank you, Papa,” she said softly. 47 shifted in his seat uncomfortably, but happy to know that maybe for once he had done something nice for a change. He shifted the gear and drove them out, exiting the area.

* * *

They rode together in silence. 47 hadn’t even noticed the quiet—he was perfectly comfortable with no noise—but Victoria eventually reached over to turn on the radio to something mindless. She seemed lost in thought.

“Papa?” she said, after an hour or so had passed. 47 hummed, and squirmed in his seat at the sound of being called her pet name for him. He still wasn’t used to hearing her call him that. She only ever used it if she really wanted something from him or was very upset. There was no in between with her. “Will you promise not to get all weird with what I’m about to ask you?”

He hummed again, wary. She had never been upset _and_ wanted something at the same time. This was unprecedented.

“It’s just…you mentioned that I should…learn to love in the way we can…”

47 remained silent, having a distinct feeling that he knew where this was going.

“Are you and mom…like a couple?” Victoria asked. He wasn’t sure whether to give himself points for guessing correctly or cringe at the inevitability of the conversation. It was something she had tried to ask him many times in the past, a question he always dodged by supplying her with what he knew were unsatisfactory half-truths.

47 drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “It’s…complicated,” he said finally. Victoria shifted in her seat in anticipation. She held her tongue, but he could tell she was bursting with questions. “Your mother and I…we’ve been partners for a long time,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. He could almost hear Diana’s voice mocking him now: _No beating around the bush indeed, eh, 47?_

“When you say ‘partners’…?”

47 considered for another moment. “Well, I really meant work colleagues,” he corrected, but continued with: “Although I suppose we could be considered partners in another sense of the word.”

Victoria stared at him and he glanced over at her. He made a snap decision. _No beating around the bush._

“She’s the only woman I’ve ever slept with,” he said, matter-of-fact. Victoria pursed her lips, her cheeks singed pink, but she seemed appreciative of his candidness. She thought for another moment.

“Do you… Do you like doing it with her?” Victoria blushed furiously when she realized what came out of her mouth, but he wasn’t embarrassed by her question at all. He thought about it.

“Usually,” 47 answered honestly. “But I know she likes it, and that’s more important to me.”

Victoria thought about that silently. 47 continued, surprised at his own chattiness today: “There are other things I prefer to do to show her I care for her. I don’t mind being her assistant when she’s working. I like doing chores for her. I like helping her dress. I like gifting her pretty things she doesn’t need. I think she understands that’s my way of showing her affection. But that’s not to say I don’t like the physical aspects of the relationship. It’s just not how I show it.”

She remained silent. He could tell she was processing. His mind flipped through years’ worth of archived memories: flowers and watches and fine jewelry she must have seen show up on their doorstep, and the delight on Diana’s face when she saw who it was always from.

More memories. His mind palace swarmed with more archives to be dug through.

There was a time when Diana struggled a great deal more with her drinking. If they came home together from the bar after a celebratory mission well done, he would sometimes find himself having to help her make it up the stairs in one piece, help her strip down naked, help her get into bed. Striping limp bodies was like second nature to him, so he hadn’t thought it odd the first time he scooped her up from under her armpits like a ragdoll. It had become such a ritual that eventually Diana had his own spare bedroom prepared for him. He only realized it probably wasn’t a healthy situation when he caught Victoria witnessing it for the first time, back when she had been newly adopted by Diana.

47 flipped forward in time, another memory clicking into place. There had been this contract—unusual from the start. He had been asked to take a partner into the field with him, told he would need someone to pose as his wife for some stuffy Gala, told that two agents were really needed on the field to gather additional intel. 47 rejected the contract almost outright; he never worked with a partner. That was when Diana had stepped in and offered to go herself. He never did find out how she had managed to convince the Board of such a ridiculous idea. She could tell him she had convinced the Board to model the Emperor’s new clothes for a children’s benefit and he wouldn’t have been surprised. She could convince them to do anything…

And so, Diana went with him, with someone else taking her place as the mission Handler. It had all gone according to plan—mostly. Towards the end of the evening Diana had grown terribly ill, and she was vomiting, but he realized almost too late that the poison wasn’t merely emetic. The Handler assigned to the case—the stupid girl—hadn’t noticed 47’s drink getting slipped a Mickey Finn, but Diana had, and not wanting to blow the cover by slapping it out of his hands, had taken the bullet herself, so to speak. He remembered dragging Diana back to the car, as discretely as one could in such a situation, and injecting her with an antidote before driving like a maniac back to Burnwood Manor. He had sat Diana onto the kitchen island, dazed and delirious, and let her heave her brains out into the waste basket that he held until the poison had left her system.

He was later told that Handler was promptly terminated for making such a sloppy mistake. Terminated in the Human Resources sense of the word, or in the Agency sense of the word, he never found out. He didn’t care.

Victoria had been much younger then. He knew she had witnessed their return home. She stood at the kitchen door with wide eyes and watched 47 tenderly wiped the makeup off Diana’s face with a washcloth. She probably thought Diana had simply drank too much that night, as she often did…

“That time wasn’t her fault,” 47 said, and Victoria had to blinked, looking confused. “Sanguine Benefit Gala. You remember that, don’t you?”

Victoria looked startled. He must have guessed correctly at what she was thinking about. “How did you…?” she started to say.

“I was just thinking about it,” he said. “That time wasn’t her fault. Her drink had been poisoned. I gave her an antidote in the car, and she had finally started to snap out of it when we got home.”

“She almost _died_?!”

47 shrugged. “Death is always a risk with our profession.” He glanced at her. “Diana always understood that. It’s what makes her a good agent.” Victoria pursed her lips, not appreciating the little lecture getting slipped in. Still, he felt like he needed to drive home the point that Diana understood Victoria far better than she cared to admit.

Victoria hesitated before beginning again on another subject. “I just wanted to know if…you feel something when you’re with her. Y’know, like turned on?” She turned to look out the window. 47 could tell from the side-view mirror that she was blushing again.

He didn’t mind the questions. He knew she wasn’t asking to be nosy or invasive; she was asking because she was worried about her own future relationships.

“Of course I do,” he said.

She seemed surprised by that. “Oh…I just thought…”

“I’m asexual, not dead inside.” She gave him a look, holding back a grin. He frowned, adding: “Contrary to what people seem to believe anyway…”

“Do you…love her?”

“Yes, of course” he replied softly, without hesitation. “But we don’t need to be lovers to know we love each other. I’ve told you this before, haven’t I?”

Victoria fidgeted with her pendant and nodded. “You also told me once that you and mom don’t have to be a couple for you to still be my dad. Remember that?” She looked at him shyly.

“I remember,” he replied. He took his left hand off the steering wheel and reached out to tug on her earlobe playfully. “That’s still true.”

She nodded again, still fiddling with her isotope necklace. He glanced at her, taking note of her embarrassment, then said: “It’s okay to feel the way you feel. Diana told me once that being asexual was perfectly normal. I wish I could say the same to you now… But I used to get angry thinking about it, too.”

Victoria didn’t respond to that, and 47 felt like he had spoken too much already today, so they carried on in silence. A Swedish pop band played through the radio, and Victoria turned it up.

Crossing the border from Wales into England roughly marked the halfway point in their journey. 47 pulled over to stop at a gas station to give them the opportunity to use the restroom and to fill up the tank before they made it too close to the city. 47 hated stopping too close to London—too expensive and too many weirdos trying to talk to him.

When they set out again, Victoria seemed to be in somewhat better spirits, having procured a can of fizzy from a nearby vending machine. 47 noted the time. It was getting late. Knowing his ward, she was probably ravenous but suffering in silence. Would Diana have enough time to prepare a meal if he called her now? Doubtful, she didn’t like to cook much. He should probably treat Victoria out somewhere when they got closer to the city…

“I didn’t realize you and mom talked so much,” Victoria said suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. 47 hummed non-committally, as if to say, _What do you mean?_ Victoria took a sip before clarifying. “I’m just surprised you know so much about me. Like about school and stuff.”

He hummed again in understanding, and then shrugged. “What else do you think I do on stakeouts?”

“I don’t know… Twiddle your thumbs?”

“Funny.”

“I said I don’t know!” she replied, rolling her eyes. 47 held back a smirk; he liked messing with her.

“I spend a lot of time on the phone with Diana. Comes with the job,” he pointed out.

“I guess I just assumed you would talk about mission stuff while on missions, and not about my personal life.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Victoria. Diana and I spend plenty of time shit-talking other people too.”

“Oh, good, well then it’s alright then.” She fiddled with the tab on her can.

“We talk to each other when we’re not on missions, too,” he admitted with a shrug.

“I just didn’t realize that, is all I’m saying,” she mumbled.

47 turned to check his blind spot before speeding past another car on the road. “This may come as a surprise to you, but your mother and I were friends way before you dropped into the picture.”

“Well, see, and here I thought you didn’t have any friends,” Victoria quipped.

“I don’t,” he agreed.

“Except for mom?”

“Correct.”

“And Uncle Grey?”

47 made a face before responding. “Barely. I go back and forth with him daily.”

“Surely you must have made friends through work or something?”

“No, I intentionally avoid contact with other Agents. They’re annoying.”

“Not a single one?”

“If I liked them, they’re probably dead.”

Victoria took another sip of her soda. She stared out the window, watching the fields pass her by. She snapped her fingers and turned back to 47. “What about Stone? And Knight? They’re cool!”

47 considered the sniper duo for a moment. “They’re alright,” he conceded, but added: “I wouldn’t call them friends, though.”

“We’ll count them as half friends each, then?”

“Maybe.”

“What about Mr. Carlton?”

“Who?”

“Carlton Smith?” 47 furrowed his brow, combing through his mind palace for an archived memory of a _Carlton Smith_. “Y’know, that American dude?” Victoria prompted, when it was clear 47 wasn’t registering who this man was. “I think he’s still with Interpol last time we checked?”

“Oh,” he said, finally able to put a face to the name. “No, fuck that guy.”

“So, all of your friends are dead?”

“Yes.”

“Every last one?”

“Yes.”

“What about that guy…what was his name…Birdie? Isn’t he still alive?”

“He’s dead to me.”

“So, if I’m doing my math right… You have two and a half living friends?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.”

Victoria took another sip of her drink, and then burst out laughing. “You are so ridiculous,” she said, rubbing her face and laughing some more. 47 glanced over at her, smiling himself. In spite of everything, it was good to hear her laugh.


	3. Victoria

Despite not having figured out the answer to every question in the universe, Victoria felt a little better about her situation in life by the time they finally hit the London suburbs. She knew she could talk to 47 whenever she wanted. And that at least felt like a step in the right direction.

Victoria was ecstatic when he wordlessly pulled up to a pub. She had long learned not to complain about trivial physiological needs like food and bathroom breaks when she went on day trips with her mentor—Maslow be damned—but it didn’t stop her from feeling famished at this very moment. It had been a long drive—over four hours of charming Welsh and English countryside—and the sun had long set below the horizon. She had eaten a generous breakfast before setting out with him but her unique biology meant she metabolized much faster than most humans her age. Surviving on nothing else since noon except a granola bar and a can of soda was not her preference. She didn’t understand how 47 could last so long without stopping to eat. Olivia Hall often called 47 a robot. It was days like these Victoria was inclined to think she might have a point…

47 waited patiently for her to stretch her limbs when she hopped out of the car. He put his arm around her shoulder as they walked in together. His cold eyes and permanent frown revealed no emotion, but she could tell he was in a good mood by the way he squeezed her shoulder and held her tight. She wrapped her arm around his waist happily.

The hostess at the front turned to 47 instinctually to ask how many to a table, but quickly turned to Victoria when he stared her down menacingly. Victoria smiled kindly and held up two fingers, but that didn’t stop the hostess from scampering off as quickly as possible.

Victoria looked up at 47, frowning. “I can’t take you anywhere,” she grumbled. He only cocked his head sideways, as if to ask what the problem was. “See, this is why you don’t have any friends,” she said to him over her shoulder as they were led to their table. The pub was crowded, and they walked in file to follow the hostess to their table.

“Cut the crap. I don’t need friends.” He nimbly stepped around servers bringing out food and folks standing around the bar. “Two and a half is already too much to manage.”

“One and a half too many?” she asked him cheekily. He tugged on her earlobe.

“Yeah.”

“You only need Diana in your life?”

He shrugged out of his trench coat when they reached their high table and helped Victoria out of hers, hanging them both on the hook nearby. “There’s only one woman I need in my life and it’s you, kid.” Victoria rolled her eyes at him as she sat herself into the high-top bar stool across from him, but she held back a pleased grin.

They each ordered beers and chips for the table when the server came. Victoria frowned at the menu, debating if it was overkill to order two entrees now or wait until she got home to have second dinner. Diana wasn’t much of a cook but there were always snacks in the pantry she could swipe… She sat up in her seat when the server returned with their chips and drink orders, clapping her hands giddily. He hadn’t even fully set the basket down when she began shoving fried potato into her mouth by the fistful.

“So, what happened?” the waiter said. Victoria looked up at him. Did she really seem that desperate for food?

She swallowed in an undignified manner, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sorry?”

“The eye? What happened?” He tapped his own eye with his pencil. Victoria blinked at him. _Oh,_ _he’s talking about my black eye_. Weird small talk to be having with a waiter…

“Uhh… Ex-boyfriend,” she said, making up a story off the top of her head.

“Oh… Jesus. Err, so sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t worry, my dad took care of him for me.” She waved a hand indicating 47. He took an enormous gulp of his Guinness, leering at the waiter as he did so. It took everything in her not to burst out laughing. 47 was so unnecessarily dramatic sometimes. The waiter looked horrified he had even asked. She made a face at 47 when the server left them, plopping another fistful of chips into her mouth.

“That server,” 47 said ambiguously.

“Kinda nosy, huh?” She took a large swig of her Goose Island to help wash down the chips, already feeling much better and less shaky from starvation. “Is it really that bad still?” She pressed the cool beer bottle to her eye tenderly. “I thought it was looking a lot better—”

“Tell me about him,” he interrupted.

“Tell you about who?”

“The waiter.”

“The waiter?” she repeated dumbly. She cocked her head to the side, setting the bottle down on the table in front of her. “What’s there to tell? 5’11”, a hundred and seventy—no, maybe, hundred seventy-five pounds…?” She took another thoughtful swig. “I should be tall enough to put him in a choke hold, weight isn’t really an issue—”

“What did he look like?”

Victoria blinked, confused. “Is…this a test?” 47 took a sip of his own drink, his expression blank. Was this a test? She couldn’t decide what he was getting at. “He was…Caucasian…” she said generically.

“What was his hair color?”

“His…his hair color?” She scratched her head, not used to this new training 47 had just invented on the spot. “Uhm… Blonde? I-I have no clue. Was he blonde?”

“He was interested in you.”

Victoria’s eyebrows shot through her forehead. “He was?!” She craned her neck to look behind her towards the kitchen, then turned back to 47. She scrunched her face. “Uh… I don’t know. I think he was cute. Was he cute?” She felt her face grow hot. “I didn’t even notice him.”

“Clearly.”

“Was I supposed to notice him?”

“Not necessarily.” He took another huge gulp of his Guinness. “Just making observations.”

The server came back to take their orders and Victoria used the opportunity to actually take a good look at the kid. He was indeed Caucasian—1 point for Victoria—but decidedly _not_ blonde, not even close—minus 2 points—and sort of cute? Maybe?—1 more point. Net zero. She huffed, having failed the test.

The waiter looked at Victoria and she realized she had been caught gawking. “More chips?” he asked, and she nodded, pushing the empty basket towards him. She caught his cheeks turning pink before heading back to the kitchen.

She turned to 47. His icy stare and permanent frown would have been impossible for anyone else to decipher, but Victoria could tell from the twinkle in his eye and the twitch at the corner of his lips that he was holding back a laugh.

“Don’t make fun of me!” she snapped.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replied with a shrug.

“Now I’m self-conscious!”

“I was just making observations. You don’t need to do anything with the information.”

“I don’t want to do anything with the information!”

“Then don’t.” She flopped her forehead to the table and groaned. She heard 47 chuckling at her expense. “I told you before: you’re perfect just the way you are. You shouldn’t feel bad about any of it.” She looked up at him to see he was averting his eyes, looking off into the pub. “If you like girls, then you like girls—”

She slammed her fists on the table. “I swear to God, 47! I don’t like girls!” That made him crack a real smile. She knew he found enjoyment out of teasing her. Some days she didn’t even mind it. She tried feigning exasperation, but found herself laughing at her own expense as well.

“But…you know it’s okay if you do, right?” 47’s eyes glittered kindly. “Whether you swing left or right or…not at all. It doesn’t matter.” He was being sincere for a change. Victoria felt her face go hot at that, and she nodded. It was comforting to know that in some ways she could be a normal girl. She had a father who loved her. And that was more than some girls had. “When was the last time you flew the chopper?” he asked, changing topics. Victoria had to think about that.

“Hmm… Not since last Christmas I guess?”

“We’ll have to practice again. Next time Diana takes her yacht out to sea we’ll go.”

Victoria’s eyes twinkled happily. “I can’t wait.” In truth, she had much more than most girls had.

Their conversation was interrupted when a gigantic Cornish hen was placed in front of Victoria. She smacked her lips, clapping her hands together rapidly in delight. 47 picked up his fork and stared at his Shepard’s pie menacingly, confirming that even the robot sometimes felt hunger. They devoured their food with gusto, wasting no time with talking.

When they were finished, 47 paid the bill and checked his watch, noting the time. He was obsessively punctual, constantly checking the time. “I’ll meet you outside,” he said. “I need to use the bathroom. Want to drive?”

“Can I?”

He tossed her the keys in response. They both got up from the table, him headed towards the water closet, her headed to wait out front.

* * *

Victoria stepped outside. It was getting to be late in the evening, and the early spring air was less forgiving now than when they were up on the mountain. A man was out there loitering about, taking a smoke break. She pulled out her phone, intending to mindlessly scroll through social media, but approached him instead.

“Hey, mind if I bum one off of you?” she said, offering him a £1 coin. The man adjusted his flat cap, and offered her a cig and a lighter, declining the money. She lit her cig, taking a huge drag, before tossing back the lighter to man in the flat cap. She wasn’t proud of the bad habit, but Diana liked to smoke a dart after a drink or two. It was something Victoria had picked up from her. Hopefully she could finish it before 47 caught her…

“You from around here, babe?” the man with the flat cap asked, making small talk. She looked up from her phone and smiled thinly, letting the patronizing pet name slide. She took another drag, debating with how to respond. It was too late to fake an accent—something she was prone to do when she went out and about in Surrey on her own and didn’t want strangers noticing her—so she decided to take a gamble.

“Nope.” Victoria noted for the first time that flat cap looked her up and down, almost appraisingly. 47 might have teased her earlier for not being able to notice polite interest, but she wasn’t stupid. This interest wasn’t merely polite. “American, actually.” She hoped that would dissuade him from trying to ask for her number, or at least give her plausible deniability into handing it over.

“Oh, really?” he said, perking up. He took a step towards her, not showing any sign of disinterest. “A tourist then?” She pursed her lips, mentally facepalming herself. Asking to bum this cig was causing her more trouble than it was worth.

“Uhh, sure,” she said.

“Where from?”

“Chicago,” she replied, defaulting to her usual half-truth.

“Ahh, the Windy City,” Flat Cap said. “Long way from home, eh?”

“Something like that.” He took another step towards her and Victoria watched him warily.

“Waiting for a boyfriend or something, babe?”

“My dad actually.”

“Your dad,” he repeated.

She took a step backwards when he continued to approach her. Her retreat was halted when she bumped into another person. She almost turned to apologize when they grabbed her by the shoulder and pressed something sharp into her side. Victoria’s heartrate rose, but not out of fear. Well this was starting to take an interesting turn. At least she knew the guy hadn’t been hitting on her.

“Does your dad dress as pretty as you, babe?” Flat cap threw his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with his heel. “Something tells me he’d be upset to see your fancy coat and your nice clean shoes dirtied up. How about you just hand over your wallet and we won’t have any trouble?”

She took inventory of their height and weight. Flat Cap: 165 pounds, 5-foot 10. Knife Man behind her: 185 pounds, 6-foot. Threat levels: real knife? Or fake? She took another long drag of her cigarette, and slowly reached her free hand into her pocket, feeling her wallet. Feeling the car keys. No problem.

Flat Cap let out a snicker. “That’s a good girl, we just want the wallet, see?” He held out a hand and curled his fingers in quickly. “Nothing to be afraid of, yeah?”

She tried but failed to hold back a snort.

“Something funny?” The man behind her pressed his knife into her side even harder. It was uncomfortable and might leave a bruise later but wasn’t cutting through fabric. Fake knife, she decided. Or screwdriver. Intended to be intimidating. Amateurish.

She replied: “My dad is kind of a scary guy. Not sure you would get along with him.”

“Well, I’m not worried about him, my pretty friend.”

“Oh, I didn’t say you should be worried about him…” She jammed the butt of her still lit cigarette into the back of the hand that was holding down her shoulder. The thug yelped in pain, jumping backwards in response to a natural reflex.

That gave her the opportunity to take two large steps forward and sock the first man in the jaw with a clean hook, the car and house keys wedged in between her knuckles. His neck cracked sideways. He stumbled backwards, spitting a tooth out, and hit the wall of the pub. Victoria intuitively sensed the other thug coming to grab her from behind.

She ducked under his arms and scooted backwards, perfectly positioning herself to kick him in the back of his knees. His forward momentum had him crashing into the first man, who had just managed to stand himself up.

“I appreciate the smoke, guy,” Victoria said coldly. “But my dad won’t be too happy about it. Maybe you should scram before you find out what he has to say.”

They scrambled up off the ground. Flat Cap spit at her feet before they both hurried out of the scene, crossing the road and ducking into the alleyway.

She bent down to pick up her cigarette from the ground and frowned at its crumpled up remains. _What a waste..._ She flicked it from her fingers.

She was flexing her hand open and closed, relieving some of the tension from her solid punch, when 47 stepped out of the pub. “What’s wrong?” he asked, intuitively knowing she had run into some trouble.

She cracked her knuckles. “Oh, nothing. Just a couple of morons trying to mug me.”

He glowered, alarmed. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Nah. Their performance was amateurish at best.” He seemed to believe her, his expression softening. “Besides, I sort of started it…”

“You started it?”

“Started the conversation, yeah.”

47 cocked an eyebrow at her. “And you get mugged for that?”

Victoria scratched her head, wondering if she had been the root cause of the problem by talking to a stranger in the first place. “Well, I went up to him first to ask for a—uhh… Well… I talked to him first, made small talk, I guess. Invited him over.”

She glanced nervously at 47, hoping he hadn’t noticed her slip up, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the ground. “Seems a little sexist,” he said with a shrug.

Victoria considered that. “I mean…I’m not saying you’re wrong...”

He hummed noncommittally, distracted by something caught his eye on the pavement. He bent down to pick it up from the ground, and for a scary moment Victoria thought he was going to ask her about the cigarette butt she had just tossed. He stood upright and showed her a wrinkled folded up piece of paper. Flat Cap must have dropped it when he retreated. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“What is it?” she asked him, almost too eagerly. “A flyer?” 47 gave her an odd look but ignored her, chalking up her strange behavior to just being a weirdo.

“An internal memo, more like.” She stood on her tiptoes and perched her chin onto his shoulder to read it with him.

> _Dear Mister —:_
> 
> _Thank you very much for your continued participation in The Reading Battering Club. We are pleased to enclose our brochures and rate schedule, which will also serve as your reservation order. You will enjoy our facilities and its many advantages to Reading living. Our warehouse overlooks the Thames River and has some of the finest views in the city._
> 
> _In the wake of turf wars that continue to plague us, we ask that all dues must be submitted no later than the deadline (see below). Gentlemen of an appropriate stature should continue training._
> 
> _Notice—Our dues for this month has increased from_ _£1730 to_ _£1900._
> 
> _…_

“Yeesh,” she said, after scanning through it quickly, not bothering to finish the whole thing. “Sounds like a bunch of wannabe frat boys playing at local mob.” 47 hummed in agreement, still reading it carefully. She tugged on his arm, leaning all her weight back on her heels like she used to do when she was a kid. “Come on, 47, let’s just go home. It wasn’t that big of a deal.” His arm didn’t budge at all, his whole center of gravity planted firmly like he was a rock.

He continued to stare at the note, ignoring her antics. “You don’t want to pay your ex-boyfriend a visit?” Victoria would later feel whiplash from the speed at which she cranked her neck up at him. He held out the memo to her, pointing to where she should read. She snatched it form his hands. At the very bottom, it said:

> _Kindest Regards,  
>  Michael Dawson  
> _ _Chair, Secretary_

Victoria had to reread the signature three times before registering the name.

“Want to go after them?” She looked up at him, her jaw hanging open. She was shocked that he would suggest such a thing.

“I thought we were sworn to minimizing non-target casualties!”

He shrugged. “We don’t have to kill them, just rough them up a bit.” She could tell from his icy gaze that he wasn’t joking. “Maybe blowing off some steam will be good for you.” He put his hands into his pockets, letting her make the decision. “Could be fun.”

A wicked grin slowly spread across Victoria’s face. “They went down the alleyway there,” she said, pointing in the direction they ambled off to. “But I think we can intercept them if we use the fire escape instead.”

He nodded, and just as she was about to step off the curb onto the street, he grabbed her arm, yanking her backwards. He stared at her, frowning deeper than usual. “You didn’t.” He bent down to lean into her face, smelling her breath.

She grinned at him sheepishly. “Didn’t what?” she asked innocently, afraid that she knew exactly what he was talking about.

He stood back upright. “Cute.”

Victoria held up her palms to him. “You’re okay with Diana having a smoke but you have to nag me about it?”

“Don’t worry. I nag her about it, too.” She rolled her eyes at him. _What a hypocrite_. As if Victoria had never seen 47 smoking a blunt before. He squinted at her, clearly not appreciative of her sass. “Your isotopes aren’t the only thing that contributes to your wholistic performance—” Victoria didn’t bother sticking around to hear the conclusion of a lecture that she had heard a hundred times. She took off to the other side of the road.

“Let’s go, 47! Rough up some thugs, not me!” she called out to him cheerfully. When he caught up to her, he was silent, but she knew him well enough to know this wouldn’t be the end of it. He would almost certainly blab to Diana later. He _always_ told Diana. She ignored his bad mood, pointing at the fire escape above her head. “Boost me up!”

He glowered at her one last time before complying, getting down on one knee and letting her use his hands as a springboard. She dropped the ladder down for him, and together they ascended the side of the building, making as little noise as possible. When they reached the roof, she crept to the other side to catch the two thugs whispering in the alley below.

“What a cock-up,” one said. She thought that must be the voice of Flat Cap. She caught a glimpse of him holding his hand to his face, a little blood dripping down—an injury created from her car keys, no doubt. “Behind on my quota as it is, and now this blunder.” Flat Cap and Knife Man slipped into the warehouse on the other side of the alley. 47 lightly tugged on her earlobe, and she looked his way to see him staring at something. He jutted his chin out, and she followed the direction of his gaze to see scaffolding that connected the two building rooftops. Victoria followed 47 as they both crept their way across carefully in single file. She watched as 47 deftly swiped a crowbar lying about as he made his way across. She found a wrench and tucked it into the butt of her jeans under her coat.

When they reached the rooftop entrance, 47 pried open the door inelegantly with his newly acquired crowbar and kicked it open. They peered into the doorway, and then looked at each other, a silent but mutual understanding passing between them. They both pulled out their regulation leather gloves from inside their front coat pockets and snapped them on. She swept her fine hair back a low ponytail, securing it out of her face. 47 looked at Victoria, his permanent scowl wedged between his eyebrows. Victoria looked back at him, and she knew from the glint in his eyes that any prior irritation at her had melted away, having been replaced with the thrill of the hunt. A mischievous grin spread across her face. Her heart was racing with excitement.

“Ladies first.” 47 gestured a hand towards the door, and she accepted his offer, stepping into the hallway. He followed closely behind.


	4. Victoria

They descended the stairs carefully and quietly. It didn’t take long for the pair to come across two thugs, halfheartedly guarding a storage room. Victoria and 47 took cover behind two crates, observing their habitual walking patterns. Every human did it unintentionally. She assessed her victims. Man on the right: 6-foot 1, 200 lbs. Pacing. Whistling. Probably too big for her. Man on the left: 6-foot, 185 lbs. Sitting. Dozing. She could take him. Now the decision still remained: Take them out? Or creep past silently?

She looked at 47, waiting. Watching for his cue. It didn’t matter what was happening in the room. She moved on his command, trusting his instructions, like a member of a pit orchestra watching their conductor instead of the stage. His icy eyes locked with her stare, and he held up the sign of the horns. She nodded, understanding his command. _Pacify him quietly_ , he told her silently.

She crept along the edge of the room tracing her hand against the wall and pulled out a £1 coin from her pocket, flicking it to one end of the room. She watched as the thug got up to investigate. She took him out with her wrench when he stood up to hold the coin in the light, and he fell backwards into her ready arms. She cradled him against her chest as she dragged him across the floor towards 47 where he helped her stuff the thug in a closet along with the other burly man that 47 had eliminated.

They continued further into the lair, down another staircase, reaching a long hallway with a guard pacing back and forth. 47 held up his hand— _Wait here_ —and crept forward. Victoria couldn’t hold back the smirk that spread across her face when he deftly put the thug into a chokehold. _He’s literally so cool_ , she thought. It was twisted, she knew, but it didn’t stop her from idolizing him. She watched him drag the guard towards a wardrobe in the middle of the hallway.

She was just about to come out of cover when a hand wrapped around her mouth and an arm wrapped around her torso. She bit the hand that was holding her and kicked into the groin area, struggling to be released. She stumbled into the hallway, turning her back towards 47. Two guards crept around the corner from the shadows, holding lead pipes, staring her down menacingly.

“What have we got here?” one brute said, snickering. “Did you get lost on the way to the bathroom, sweetheart?” Victoria frowned. What was it with the patronizing nicknames tonight? “How’d you wander in here all alone?”

She glanced behind her, but 47 was nowhere to be found. Had he pressed on without her? Her lips twitched sideways in dismay. _So much for being cool_. Stall for time then. She stepped backwards slowly. Calculating. Assessing their height and weight. Both were heavier than 47—not something she was comfortable with confronting in combat directly. Lead pipes were no joke, either. Ceiling fan above them. Could be shot down to stun them…if only she had her pistol. What to do…? If only Cindy were here, Victoria thought, thinking of her Handler.

Victoria was never large enough to fight using the same methods that 47 could employ. At his 6-foot 2 frame, he towered over those around him and could easily knock any average-sized person out. Victoria on the other hand stood at 5-foot 10—while certainly taller than the average woman, it had its disadvantages in both stealth and in combat. Plus, being a vamp assassin meant there wasn’t a lot of places to store equipment when she was stuck in a situation wearing nothing but lingerie. Victoria had learned early on to get creative. She fought dirty, improvising with any blunt object close to her.

Long manicured nails were a girl’s best friend, perfect for scratching at the face. Car keys in an enclosed fist worked when she didn’t have her brass knuckles on her. Pots and pans in a kitchen, lamps in a living area, all could be used as projectiles. The ICA provided her with her favorite toy: a fiber wire that could be disguised as a garter and could even hold up her stockings when undercover. Of course, nothing beat a good whack to the head with a wrench. Which is the method she employed now.

She chucked her wrench as hard as she could at one thug’s face. He jumped aside, but it still hit his companion in the throat. She took the opportunity that it gave her to perform a slide tackle under the first goon’s legs, wrapping her fiber wire around his ankles and yanked up, tripping him up over himself. The second thug who took a wrench to the throat recovered and slammed his lead pipe on her head. She saw stars for a moment, but still had the presence of mind to kick up at his face as hard as she could. He stumbled backwards, clutching his now broken nose while she somersaulted behind him, grabbing the wrench again from the floor. Victoria was now on the other end of the hallway. The goons turned to face her, as she held up her wrench like a two-handed broadsword. They were all panting, but ready for round two. “Come on, little girl,” one thug taunted. “That little plumber’s tool isn’t going to work on us.”

Victoria frowned. She had already calculated that she probably wasn’t big enough to take both of these asshats down easily. Where 47 was stealthy and fluid, she was scrappy and noisy. It wasn’t always as elegant as 47…but it did make for a great decoy. She watched behind the thugs, saw 47 creep out of the wardrobe and approach like a predator. The thugs both took a step towards her, but she wasn’t watching them. She stood patiently at the wings, awaiting orders from her conductor.

The signal came when he held up one finger. She threw the wrench as hard as she could at the man with the bloodied nose. It hit him square between the eyes at the same moment 47 grabbed the second goon in a chokehold.

“I see where the black eye came from,” 47 quipped as they both dragged the men towards the now overstuffed wardrobe. “Not my usual style…but if it works…”

“Sorry, I didn’t know how much time I should stall for.”

“You’re getting better at close quarters combat but you’re still hesitating.”

“Bigger than you and I get anxious! I haven’t practiced much with over 185.”

“You can take on 190 at least. We’ll get someone to train with you.”

“Ugh, 47, you’re killing me here.”

“Killing you is the opposite of what I’m trying to do.” 47 frowned at her and then pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket. “Your forehead.” She pressed a finger to her eyebrow and pulled her hand back when it felt warm and wet. She tsked at herself.

“Diana’s going to have a field day with this one.” He hummed in agreement, wiping her face for her gingerly.

“We’ll think of something to tell her,” he promised. “Let’s go, the fun’s not over yet.”

They proceeded onward. Another level down, another hallway. 47 observed a window and hopped out. Victoria followed his lead without question. They sidled along the side of the warehouse, Victoria blindly trusting his intuition, and they stepped through another window. It was a small storage room, crates and refrigerators full of food and wine. A pantry perhaps? They stopped at an entrance that used fabric curtains instead of doors and peeked through to the other side. Men lounged around in swanky suits smoking on cigars. The crack of billiards balls could be heard from across the room. Women in scantily clad bikinis milled around, serving a variety of dark liquors. Victoria looked on warily, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

“47, what are we even doing here?” she asked. She sat with her back against the wall and buried her face in her hands. “Like, seriously? Why did we come here?”

He looked at her, and then quickly shifted cover to crouch next to her. “Training doesn’t have to have a purpose. Sometimes it’s just about experimenting a little. Seeing what works. Trying something out of the ordinary. Improvising.”

She side-eyed him. “Is that all this is to you? Training?” He rubbed his head as if confused by the question.

“Yeah?” he admitted with a shrug.

“Feeling guilty about not letting me have my revenge all those years ago and now you’re trying to make up for it?”

He pursed his lips. "That too." He looked back through the entrance, calculating what to do next. “If this isn’t fun to you we can just go home…”

“No, no, I didn’t say that,” she said, holding up a hand. “Just needed to refocus our objectives here.” She began counting on her fingers. “Okay, we infiltrate the base—objective complete—find either those two thugs or Michael, beat the ever-loving shit out of them, and then leave. That’s the plan, right?”

47 blinked at her. “Sure.” Victoria slapped herself on her cheeks.

“Okay, great. Intel it is. We’ll need to get closer somehow…” She was about to indicate to 47 that she was ready to move on when a giggling waitress and waiter came stumbling through the curtains, clearly on an early break. 47 and Victoria stared as the couple began snogging each other, not having noticed the intruders squatting on the ground. Victoria looked at 47 at the same time he looked at her, and they jumped the unwitting couple, putting them both in a chokehold.

The waitress squealed as Victoria covered her mouth and squeezed on her neck. “Sorry,” she whispered as the waitress went limp in her arms, “it’s nothing personal—just training.” Victoria began to quickly undress, shucking off her jeans and mock turtle in one clean motion. She frowned at the girl’s skimpy outfit but refused to complain as she put it on.

"Something, something, improvising, huh?” she called out to 47. She heard him grunt in agreement from behind a crate.

She took a pitying look at the now nude girl and wrapped her up in Diana’s coat. “I’ll return your stuff, promise,” she whispered, before shutting the crate over her.

Victoria stood up, now wearing an adorable corset bodysuit, fishnets and stilettos. She despised it—it wasn’t flattering to her body shape at all. She looked down at herself and grumbled. To add insult to injury her breasts didn’t quite fill in the bust the way she would have liked. It was a perennial problem she faced when borrowing other women’s clothing. 47 emerged from his hiding space buttoning up the last cuff on his sleeve, looking sharp in the waiter’s vested getup. 47 cocked an eyebrow at her but said nothing. She felt even more ridiculous. “I’m just _improvising_ here,” she said, gestured at herself.

He ignored the snarky comment. “Your eye,” he reminded her, the one thing that was going to blow her cover faster than an enforcer. Victoria pulled out her ponytail and deftly swept her hair over to one side of her face, her fine locks draping over her shoulder seductively. She picked up the waitress’ fallen serving tray and cocked a hip.

“How do I look?” she said with a wink.

“That is a trick question,” was his apathetic response. They parted the curtains and stepped through together, wasting no time blending in. 47 stepped behind the bar and took orders as though he could read minds, and Victoria strode to a table.

“What’ll it be?” she asked sweetly and got a slap on the ass in response. She gritted her teeth through her smile. “More whiskey, got it.” She sauntered back to the bar, setting the tray down in front of 47 who expertly slid shot glasses full of whiskey, dark rum and gin onto her tray. She locked eyes with him and he pointedly looked past her, jutting his chin out. She turned to follow his gaze towards the primary entrance of the lounge, where an entourage of men were approaching. The bosses, judging by the way they dressed.

And then, like a jolt of electricity, she saw him. He was in the back of the pack. He was still 6 feet, still 165 lbs, and still had that stupid cocky smile on his stupid handsome face. She slipped a small cheese knife from the bar and tucked it in her front of her bra. It would be so easy to just whisper in his ear, tell him to meet her in the pantry room, punch him in the face, then hightail it out of there. She strode to him slowly, the green in her irises glowing like poison. Heart racing. Blood boiling. _So easy_. Step by step, made her way closer to her prey—

“ _Hey, baby_!” A ruffian at a table hailed her over. Victoria stopped with a start and realized she was indeed still carrying a tray full of shot glasses and supposed to still be undercover. Victoria watched as her target milled about, talking to someone. She would just have to watch him from the corner of her eye. “Come here, sweetheart!” Victoria swore under her breath. The nicknames tonight, good grief.

She turned to the customer and smiled sweetly, plopping herself down next to him. “Hiiii,” she said, crossing a leg over his knee. Victoria grinned at him, before realizing with a start that it was Flat Cap. She almost dropped the tray full of glasses on him, but composed herself enough to hold up a shot to him, taking one herself and clinked his glass with a cheers. She threw the shot back, the alcohol feeling warm down her throat. Should she try to out drink them? She could drink almost three times the amount an average-sized male could. That’s worked in the past… Victoria wished not for the first time that her Handler were present. Cindy would have an idea...

She needn’t have worried about creating an opportunity—an opportunity presented itself to her. “Shit, here comes Dawson,” Flat Cap whispered to Knife Man, who was also loitering at this table. “I’ll do all the talking.” Knife Man nodded wordlessly.

“Oy, Kelly,” Michael Dawson said, walking over to the table. He grabbed himself a chair and sat down. “You’re behind, yeah? I shouldn’t have to remind you—”

“—yeah, yeah, I know. I owe ya. £1700, right?”

“It’s actually £1900, or didn’t you get the memo?” Flat Cap scowled. Michael flipped a coin in the air and caught it. Victoria resisted the urge to roll her eyes—that was a trick he used to show off in high school. Good to see that it served a purpose all these years later. 47 was right—he was just a thug. “Meet me out back in 10,” he said, standing up.

Flat Cap shoved Victoria’s leg off of his and stood up, along with Knife Man. They all adjusted their cuffs very importantly and wandered off. Victoria stood up, knowing she had to move quickly if she didn’t want this opportunity to go to waste. If she tried to go into the backroom without an invitation she would be trespassing. She scuttled to Michael and hooked a finger into his back pocket. “Another drink, sir?” she said sweetly.

He sighed and turned to face her. “For the last time, no more—” He stopped when he saw her eyes—those eyes that no man or woman ever seemed to forget, green eyes that almost glowed eerily in the dark. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing in front of him.

“Vicky…?” he finally managed to sputter out. “My God, what are you doing here?”

“Just one more drink,” she insisted, holding up her tray to him. He swallowed and looked around the room anxiously before nodding slowly.

“Alright, come in then. I have another meeting but it’ll only take a second.”

Victoria glanced back over her shoulder one final time to catch 47’s eye, who was wiping down a table, collecting empty pint glasses. He flipped the towel over his shoulder and locked eyes with her for a split second. He tugged on his earlobe as he walked by— _I’ll be here as backup if you need it_ —and then proceeded back to the bar to continue serving drinks without missing a beat.

“It’s good to see you again, baby,” Michael whispered in Victoria’s ear. She looked up at him and smiled sweetly.

“It’s good to see you too.” And he ushered her into the back room.

* * *

They stepped through a curtain that took them down a short hallway with a couple guards stationed in front of another door. “Leave us,” Michael snapped as they entered the back room. Every guard and personnel left on his command. Michael looked at her smugly, and she resisted gagging. Was she supposed to be impressed?

“What the hell are you doing here, Vicky?” Michael said as soon as they were alone.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She set the tray of glasses down and looked around, picking up a roll of duct tape absentmindedly, looping it through her arm. It wasn’t an especially swanky lounge. Crates of weapons were shoved to one side—a pistol would have been handy 10 minutes ago—a computer with security cameras was stationed here—she would need to take care of that—Briefcases piled high with stacks of bills laying around… She focused back on Michael. “I had a run-in with a couple of your guys earlier tonight. I got curious about this little operation you have going on.”

Michael frowned. “A run-in?” Victoria sat on the couch and crossed her legs, patting the spot beside her. Michael accepted the invitation, and she straddled him.

“Just a little one.” She tapped his nose daintily with a finger and smiled sweetly at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I missed you,” she cooed.

“D-did you now?” Michael said, a smirk crossing his face.

“Oh yeah.” He brushed her hair out of her face and was alarmed for a moment.

“Shit—what’s with the eye?” She jerked her face away and grabbed his hand. _Why is everyone so fussy about this stupid thing_ , she thought.

“I was a bad girl,” she replied. “Hold still.” She taped both his hands together in a prayer pose, holding eyes with him. She swept her hands down his front, stopping at his belt. He glanced down and back at her again, equal parts nervous and excited. It almost too easy. He was a moron then, and he was a moron now.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think?” she asked coyly. She undid his belt buckle and teasingly pulled the belt out of his belt loops, sliding off the couch to kneel in front of him. “Relax,” she cooed, and he slouched, getting comfortable. She tied the belt around his knees and laced his shoes together quickly.

“Y-you’re not still feeling sour, are you, Vicky, baby?”

“Sour?” She stood and grabbed him by his shirt and threw him on the floor, face first. He scrambled to get up again but his tied up knees and hands made him clumsy. “Now why the hell would I be sour?” she said sweetly, digging a knee into his back to force him to the ground. “You only took my mother’s best necklace from me, but…water under the bridge, right?” She pulled out the cheese knife from her breast and pressed it against his neck when he started to squirm—it wasn’t going to actually harm him, but _he_ didn’t need to know that.

A knock on the door made her look up just as Flat Cap barged in with Knife Man following closely behind him. “Hey, Dawson, you wanted— _oh, Jesus_ —“ he said, quickly backtracking and slamming the door behind him, having apparently caught his boss in one of his freaky kinks.

“ _No, come back! Get help!_ ” Michael shouted at the door. A loud Wilhelm scream sounded through the other side of the door, and 47 came in, as if on cue, carrying the two goons by the scruffs of their necks. He tossed the two would-be assailants to the floor in front of him like a couple of sacks of potatoes.

47 cracked his neck and looked around. He was changed out of the waiter uniform back into his all-black getup, trench coat and all. How he had done all that and managed to get here in time, she didn’t know, but he looked pretty badass right now. _I can’t get over how cool he looks_ , Victoria thought to herself.

Victoria looked at the two muggers, groaning on the floor in front of her. They struggled to get up on their knees, likely concussed. “Hey, you're that guy! Remember me? Guess you got to meet my dad after all.” She stood and stomped on Michael’s back before he could get any ideas, digging the heel of the stiletto into his back. She placed her hands on her hips. “I did warn you he was kind of scary.” 47 cracked his knuckles behind them, playing the part of menacing brute perfectly. So unnecessarily dramatic. She loved every second of it.

Flat Cap scrambled to his knees coughing. “W-who the hell are you?”

Victoria cocked her hip and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Names are for friends, so I don’t need one.” Flat Cap and Knife Man both winced. She ignored 47 frowning and shaking his head behind them.

“Come on, baby, there’s no need to be so nasty!” Michael whined from the floor.

Victoria pulled him up off the ground with one hand and spun him around to face her. “Don’t call me _baby_.” Her fist made contact with Michael’s nose cleanly. He stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. He held his face, blood dripping from his hand.

47 stepped up to Michael and reached into the boy’s coat pockets. “You took something that belongs to us,” he said icily. “Unfortunately for you, we charge with interest.” He pulled out Michael’s wallet and took out all the cash, counting it slowly. His tsked, then turned his gaze to one of the suitcases with money, and nonchalantly took it with him. He picked up a pistol off a crate and fired two shots into the security cameras computers. He was terrifying to watch.

Victoria had never been happier in her life. _So fucking cool_. She did her best to look tall and scary, forcing a scowl on her face as they strode out together. She even cracked her knuckles as she walked past the mugger duo, who cowered appropriately.

They found themselves back in the hallway that connected the backroom to the lounge, the guards conveniently gone. 47 must have taken them out silently prior to his timely arrival.

“Here,” he said, handing over her clothes. Her face lit up to be reunited with them. It was good to be dressed decently for one, and for another she wouldn’t have to explain to Diana the missing trench coat. All would be well in the world again. He turned to let her change in private. When she stood up after lacing up her combat boots, she struck a pose, aiming finger guns at him.

“I’m a silent assassin and I did it all in my suit!” He scowled at her, and she knew that if he had the capacity to facepalm himself, he would. “So. How the heck are we supposed to get out of here now?” she wondered aloud. 47 look at her for a moment, then at the wall beside him and pulled the fire alarm. “Well…alright then,” she said, blinking.

They took off running, back into the main lounge, racing past all the chaos around them. Triggering the fire alarm caused those in the lounge to panic. Screaming waitresses and burly men in suits were all the same in a crisis, scrambling to gather their things and retreat. Victoria grinned widely at the pandemonium, struggling to contain her giddy energy.

They kicked through the emergency stairwell door, sprinting down the stairs. Victoria ran into 47’s back, who abruptly paused in the middle of the way to throw her a look. “ ‘Names are for friends’?” he said, repeating her quip from earlier, his voice booming over the noise around them.

She rolled her eyes, shoving him to get him to keep moving. “Don’t even with me, you use that line all the time!”

“I say it with purpose. You said it just to sound cool.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Michael already knows your name, stupid.”

She blushed at the realization that 47 was right, but stubbornly retorted with: “Shut the hell up!” She pointed a finger at him. “You cracked your knuckles unnecessarily!”

47 paused again to look at her, holding up his free hand in an OK gesture. “Intimidation with _purpose_ , Victoria. _Purpose._ ” She punched him in the shoulder petulantly.

When they finally made it back out onto the street there was a firetruck on the scene and people milling around to find out what all the ruckus was about. Victoria and 47 were merely one of many people fleeing the building; no one stopped them or gave them a passing glance. She turned to look at the building behind her and was alarmed to see there was a fire on a top floor being put out by the fire department. “Did you do that?” she asked him, pointing up at it.

He looked at her like she was crazy. “No, that must have been an accident.” She couldn’t decide if he was serious or not.

They ran back to the pub. Victoria let her bottled up excitement burst, running down the road shrieking with laughter. She sat down on the curb, holding her sides. She had never felt so alive. She felt free. She felt as though it was what she was born to do.

47 sat down on the curb next to her, rubbing the back of his head. “All things considered, you did well in there.” She looked up at her mentor, pleased. “You were pretty cool…Agent Flare.”

She threw her arms around his neck in a tight hug, rubbing her cheek against his. “Thank you, Papa,” she said, tightening her embrace around him, burying her face into his shoulder. “You’re the best.” She knew he couldn’t give her what other fathers gave their daughters, but he showed her he cared in his own way: sniper road trips, helicopter lessons, and mugging her ex-boyfriends. That was love, wasn’t it?

She let go of his neck and looking up at him happily. He still had his signature scowl plastered on his face but the way he averted his eyes and the pink on his cheeks told her he was happy too. He patted her on the head. “Still want to drive?” he asked her. Victoria nodded, and pulled out the keys from her trench coat pocket, jingling them excitedly. She was still bursting with energy.

“So. What are you going to do with the money?” Victoria asked as they stood up, pointing at the briefcase that he had swiped more on a whim than anything else.

He looked at her confused. “I thought I already told you? A gift for you.”

Victoria racked her brain for what he was referring to but couldn’t make a guess. Any attempts to get him to elaborate was met with a shrug on his end. She would just have to be resigned to getting a surprise then. She slipped her arm around his waist, excited. She liked surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s notes: First time writing action scenes. It was fun to practice! This was probably the hardest chapter for me to write.


	5. 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: implied alcohol abuse
> 
> Spoiler alert: As a reminder, this fic was written and published before the release of Hitman 3. Some subtle head-canon predictions for Hitman 3 will be referenced/inserted here.

47 checked the clock when they pulled up to the Burnwood Manor gates. It was getting late, but he could see the house had lights on. Diana must still be up. Victoria deftly swung the Land Rover into its designated spot in the garage, next to Diana’s Jaguar and the old station wagon that they all shared when they were actually trying to be practical or inconspicuous.

Victoria, ever dutiful and diligent, set about helping 47 clean up the trunk of the car, storing the guns and unused bullets in their rightful place in the arsenal, the cans recycled appropriately. She obeyed his instructions to leave the suitcase in the trunk of the car for now. No need for Diana to see that little souvenir just yet… Victoria didn’t question it.

“I can’t believe she’s still up,” she commented with a yawn. All the adrenaline had left her system, and she looked as exhausted as he felt. He entered the passcode, locking the garage door behind them. “She was up when we left, and we left at like six. Right?” He hummed in agreement. They began the short trek to the main house.

“I’m worried about her,” Victoria said.

“I know.”

“Aren’t you worried about her?” He put his arm around her shoulders.

“All the time,” he said. “She doesn’t get a lot of sleep, but to be fair, neither do we.”

“That’s different,” Victoria pointed out. “We’re…built different from her.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, “but that doesn’t stop her from worrying about you, too.”

Victoria nodded, looking like was bracing herself for some type of heated argument or tearful reunion with her mother and couldn’t decide which was worse. Their adventure had been a fun distraction for her, but it was time to face reality.

They reached the front entrance, and just before opening the door, he bent down to be closer to her eye level. Her electric green eyes looked devoid of its usual thunder. “I’ve learned the hard way to trust her.” He patted her on the head, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear for her. “You should trust her, too.” He gave her one last affectionate tug on the earlobe for good luck, before opening the door for her and letting her step into the foyer ahead of him.

They found Diana sitting at the kitchen island, flipping through her favorite fashion magazine, a glass of wine in hand. Even in her nightwear, Diana looked stylish and refined. She wore her favorite pair of silk pajamas with its matching robe tied tightly around her waist, her thick auburn hair tied back in a low ponytail that draped over her shoulder.

Diana looked up at them as they entered, her mouth twisted in a Mona Lisa smile that made her expression unreadable. The grandfather clock in the sitting room struck midnight, its rings reverberating through the house.

She let the final ring die down before speaking. “Cinderella and her faithful footman have returned from the ball, I see.”

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the sitting room?” 47 said, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it off a chair.

“The wine cellar is easier to get to from here.” She took a sip from her glass as if that proved her point. “What took so long? You were supposed to be back hours ago.”

47 threw a glance at Victoria beside him. She was staring at her feet, fidgeting unhelpfully. The girl could take out five 200-lb thugs without flinching, but somehow cowered under the stare of a woman half a head shorter than her. He shrugged and said: “We got held up. Bad traffic.” Diana frowned.

“Bad traffic? Out of Wales?” She sounded skeptical. He could see her mapping out the route from Afon Rheidol to Surrey in her head. “Did you cross through to the other side of London just to get back here?” He didn’t reply, his bluff having been called out. She turned to look at Victoria, who was still averting her eyes. Diana got up from her seat and stepped up to her, gently lifting her chin.

“And I take it I’m not supposed to ask about the new cut over your eye, or the broken nails, or the fact that you’re wearing my brand-new coat out, hm?” Victoria pursed her lips, knowing she had a lot of explaining to do. Diana took a deep sigh. “Keep your secrets for now. We’ll speak in the morning. You both have had a long day I’m sure. Go on, off to bed with you, darling,” she said, shooing Victoria.

Victoria looked like she wanted to say something. Whether out of obedience to Diana or simply accepting the easy way out of an argument, she nodded and turned on her heel.

They watched her leave and listened to her take the stairs two at a time. Diana looked up at 47 and cocked an eyebrow at him. “ ‘Bad traffic’? You disappoint me, 47. You’re usually much quicker on your feet.” He shrugged again.

“Lots of people had the same idea as us, I guess.” Diana rolled her eyes at his flippant response. She sat back on the bar stool and flipped through her magazine some more. “Come on. Don’t be like that.”

Diana looked up at him, a hint of anger in her brow. “I was worried. Thought you had run into some trouble. Given the state Victoria is in, my reservations were correct. Silly me for being paranoid.”

“You could have just tracked our location.” Diana looked as though she were offended by the idea.

“And invade your privacy?” 47 gave her a look as if to say, _Like that’s beneath you?_ She frowned at him. “Don’t encourage me. I have been…trying…to be better about that.” 47 said nothing, pouring himself a glass of wine from the already open bottle. “Per _your_ request, I might add.”

47 took Diana’s glass and topped her off before recycling the bottle. He noted there was already an empty bottle in the bin but made no comment about it. “She’s been through enough without you having to interrogate us the moment we walk through the door.”

“ ‘Track them,’ he tells me. But ‘don’t ask any questions about where they’ve been,’ he tells me,” she said, waving her arms around hailing some unknown force. “What would you have me do then?”

“Try to see things from her perspective.”

“You always take her side,” she said, pointing a finger at him accusingly. “You spoil her.”

“I don’t,” he snapped back. “I let her be who she is.” He took a sip of his wine and held her gaze. She scowled.

“You may believe her to be your ward, but she is mine to care for. I won’t just stand by and let her waltz down a path of pain—”

“Your fears are blinding you from the reality of who she is. _What_ she is—”

“Stop.” Diana looked away from him, pained. “She doesn’t have to be like us. She’s…she’s not a monster.”

“No more than I.”

Diana’s cheeks turned pink as a horrified look spread across her face. “I-I didn’t… I didn’t mean it that way,” she stammered out.

“I know you didn’t,” he replied, not unkindly. 47 continued to watch her as she folded her hands in front of her. He drank from his wine slowly.

She rested her forehead against her fists. “Was it all a mistake?” 47 said nothing, letting her process out loud. “Risking being hunted by the ICA. Stealing Victoria away from the doctors. Betraying you…what was it all for? If this is the life she wanted all along…”

“Don’t,” 47 said sharply. “Don’t start with that, Diana.”

“I know I’ve made mistakes before. Miscalculated…”

“Stop.” 47 stepped around the kitchen island to sit next to her. “Don’t compare this to what happened with Providence. I still trusted you, even when you defected to the Constant’s side, I knew you were merely a double agent.” He took her shoulder and squeezed it. “We took a gamble. Together.”

She looked at him doubtfully, then lowered her gaze. “You were almost killed,” she said softly. The guilt still tormented her even after all these months.

“Death is always a risk,” he reminded her. He could tell she had more to say on the matter but didn’t give her the chance to argue with him about that. It was a conversation for another day. “She has a choice.”

“She has a choice,” she agreed quietly.

“You don’t agree with the choice.” It was a statement, not a question. Diana looked at him, looking regretful and disappointed. With whom, he couldn’t tell. “You did the right thing,” he continued, “But she still gets to make the choice for herself. You said so yourself—”

“—I know what I told her,” Diana snapped, and held her tongue when she realized how sharp she was being with him. “She was free to let go of her isotope pendant whenever she wanted. To…to do what needed to be done…”

“But?” he prompted, when she trailed off into silence.

“But I wasn’t prepared for the consequences of her making the decision that I was afraid of.” 47 nodded, understanding. She took a huge gulp from her glass and fidgeted with the corner of the magazine. 47 let her sit and think. He was a very patient individual. “Is she…angry with me?”

“No. She’s more upset about disappointing you.” That seemed to take Diana by surprise. She carefully ripped the corner of the page out. Her brows furrowed and relaxed.

“Disappointed?” she repeated. She pulled the paper apart, into smaller and smaller pieces. “Never—I could never be… I love her with all my heart.”

“I know.” He watched her hands continue to fidget, ripping another strip out of her magazine.

“Yes, I know that _you_ know. But does _she_ know? That’s what you’re thinking. You’re going to tell me that she needs to hear it from me.”

“Maybe.”

“And maybe that I should apologize for being so hard on her these last few days?”

47 said nothing, reaching out to pull her hair free from its ponytail.

“And—you will add—that since she’s leaving tomorrow it’s best that I don’t wait until the morning.” 47 wrapped the elastic band around his wrist. She didn’t react to the theft, continuing to mindlessly tear paper apart. “You’re right, I know you’re right.” She still refused to look at him. He reached out to fiddle with a lock of her hair.

“Diana,” he said softly, “you’re making a mess.” Her hands suddenly froze, and she clenched them into fists. She blinked, as though she only just realized that three pages had been torn out. She folded her hands on the countertop, unsure of what to do with them now.

“You’re right,” she repeated. He knew that was a hard thing for her to admit. Diana turned to look at him. “When did you get so good at this?”

He twirled a perfect curl around his pointer finger, gently tugging on her. “At what?”

“Parenting, I suppose.” They locked eyes and snorted at each other. “Mediating, then?”

He shook his head. “I learned from you.”

“Surely you jest. You always take her side.”

“Funny. She said the same thing to me about you.”

“Always neutral then?” He didn’t answer, only continued to fiddle with her hair. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I…did track you, by the way.” She looked up at him, reticent and apologetic. “When I saw you nearly approaching Surrey I went to bed, but then you didn’t arrive home when I expected, so I got up again.”

“It’s okay. I would have done the same,” he admitted.

She chewed on her thumb nail. “I didn’t drink the entire bottle.” He let go of her hair, saying nothing. “I had one glass and poured out the rest. But waiting around made me anxious so…I opened a second.”

“I didn’t say anything about that.”

“Don’t patronize me. I know you noticed it.” 47 _had_ noticed, of course…but he didn’t want to bicker with her. Victoria often complained that 47 didn’t nag Diana as much as he did her. But that was because he didn’t have to. Diana was a harder critic on herself than 47 ever was.

Instead, he reached into his pocket. “I have something that might cheer you up.”

He slid a driver’s license across the kitchen bar to her. “What’s this?” She picked it up to examine it when he didn’t clarify. “Michael Dawson?” she said, reading the name of the ID aloud. It took her a moment to process before letting out a loud laugh. “So, this is why your adventure took such a long detour? My goodness, 47, how you spoil her!”

“I’m more interested in spoiling you,” he said, sliding her a pair of scissors.

She took the scissors and gleefully cut the photo ID into tiny pieces, the remains mixing in with the shredded paper graveyard already created in front of her. “Bastard,” she mumbled, mixing pile together. He shook his head, trying not to laugh, watching her absentmindedly pool all the paper together. “I’m relieved. The delay wasn’t anything serious then…”

“I would have told you if it was.”

“Was she good?”

“Very.” Diana nodded at that. 47 couldn’t decide if she was proud or upset. Probably some combination of both.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For taking her with you today. She reveres you so much.”

“I enjoy her company. There’s no need to thank me.”

“Still.” She sighed. “Will she be alright then?” 47 nodded his head, swirling his wine around thoughtfully.

“Yes…but she suffers. It’s hard to watch her process through it alone.”

“I know. I can’t imagine what it’s like…” Diana said, sympathetic. “What did the two of you talk about?”

“Everything. She was full of questions.” 47 glanced over at Diana hesitantly before taking another sip of his drink. “I told her about us.”

Diana nodded, and seemed resigned to hear that. “Inevitable. It would have been impossible to keep from her forever.”

“But still—”

“I know.”

“—it could be dangerous.”

“I agree.”

They gazed at each other for a beat. He took a sip of his wine and then she took a drink in response. They continued to drink in silence, not needing anything else but the presence of each other’s company. When their glasses were empty 47 took them to the sink and rinsed them both out. She tried to stop him, pointing out that he didn’t have to do that for her, but he only shrugged in response. He was happy to do the task.

“Victoria and I are leaving tomorrow,” 47 said finally, wiping the glasses dry with a dish towel. He handed them to her. “Early flights.”

“I know,” she said, storing the glasses away. He leaned against the sink, watching her fuss around, cleaning the mess she had made with the magazine shreddings.

“I don’t know when we’ll see each other next.”

“I know.” She shuffled past him and he took her hand, stopping her.

“But can I at least stay the night?”

“I wouldn’t dream of sending you away at this hour, 47, of course. Your room is always prepared for you.”

He squeezed her hand gently. “…with you?”

Her cheeks singed pink. “I—y-yes, of course. Always.” She averted her eyes, swallowing. He couldn’t help the smile that curled on his lips. It was good to see her flustered every now and again.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” he confessed, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“M-me either.” Her lips twitched sideways at the admission.

“I love you, Diana.”

“…I know.”

He cradled her face in both his hands and kissed her chastely on the lips. He slid one hand down from her cheek to her neck, from her neck to her chest, and felt her heartbeat threatening to burst through her sternum. She took hold of his wrists, squeezing her index fingers on his veins. His heartbeat was slow and steady. She huffed and let go, trying her best not to seem too disappointed. She pulled the elastic band from his wrist that had been robbed from her earlier and tied her hair back into its loose ponytail.

“You know everything?” he said, standing upright.

“It is my job,” she pointed out. She crossed her arms, sighing. “I suppose I can’t delay it any longer, then.” 47 nodded, and reached out to drape her hair over her shoulder. He then indicated with his hand that she lead the way.

They took to the stairs, 47 turning out all of the lights behind her. She strode over to Victoria’s bedroom door when they reached the top, chin held high. He knew that look. It was the face Diana made whenever she was going up in front of the Board. Diana stood in front of the door to Victoria’s room and held up a trembling fist, unable to bring herself to knock. He stood behind her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders.

She chewed on her bottom lip. “Will she forgive me, do you think?” 47 was reminded of not too long ago, when Victoria wondered the same thing of Diana.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, not unkindly. “She’s trying to see it from your perspective too.” He took a step back as Diana gently knocked on the door. He watched her slip inside, and waited for a beat, debating whether to wait and listen. He decided that everything would work out on its own without his meddling and retreated to his own room.

* * *

47 returned to Victoria’s bedroom after a hot shower and a welcome change into a pair of comfortable joggers and a Henley. He was surprised to find the door ajar. He poked a head in and observed no one there. He wandered to the Master bedroom and was met with success. There he found his two girls cuddled up in Diana’s bed. Despite being taller than her, Victoria was curled up with her back against Diana’s chest as the little spoon. Diana embraced her tightly, with Victoria’s head tucked under her chin. Their faces were both blotchy, cheeks tinted pink from a much-needed cry together.

“Well, my love, what shall we say to your Papa? Hm?” Diana whispered sweetly into Victoria’s ear as he approached. Victoria pursed her lips shyly, embarrassed to hear Diana using her pet name.

“He’s always taking your side,” Victoria mumbled, burying her face into her pillow.

“What!? I beg to differ,” Diana said, feigning exasperation. She squeezed Victoria and shook her good naturedly. “He’s a double agent then? We should have guessed it.” Victoria giggled as 47 slipped under the covers next to her. He lay on his back, hands folded on his chest. “What say you, 47?”

He hummed, keeping his focus on the ceiling.

“Well, I know what I think. If you’re going to do this, then I won’t make it easy on you, understand? I won’t accept anything but the best from you. And you do know who holds the number 1 spot at the Agency, don’t you?”

Victoria nodded, her eyes wide, though Diana couldn’t see that. Diana chuckled, squeezing her tighter.

“We won’t let you take that title from us so easily, wouldn’t you say, 47?” 47 hummed in agreement. “You and your handler have a long way to go before we’ll let you take that spot away from us.” 47 turned his head and locked eyes with Victoria, and he caught the electricity sparking in her stare. Silent but mutual understanding passed between them. From this day on, they weren’t just mentor and protegee. They weren’t father and daughter. They were rivals.

Victoria’s bright green eyes glittered with determination. “Cindy and I are going to be the best…you can count on it,” she said, almost as a promise to herself.

“Cindy Kim? I taught her everything she knows. She’s good…but I’m better.”

“Is that a challenge then?”

Diana couldn’t help a chuckle. “Of course, my dear. Anything else wouldn’t be half as fun.” 47 reached out a hand and patted his ward on the head. She swatted his hand away and he tugged her earlobe in response.

“Stop, both of you,” Diana chided. “Sleep. I’m here.” Victoria yawned in agreement. She took hold of Diana’s hand, kissing her fingers.

“I love you,” she said shyly. Diana shivered. She held her, and they both watched as she dozed off in her arms.

“When she was little,” Diana murmured, caressing Victoria’s hair gently, “she used to get night terrors. She would come here and wouldn’t be able to fall asleep unless I held her like this.” 47 blinked up at the ceiling. He had known about the night terrors, but never learned how they subsided. He archived that information away. It felt important.

After a minute he sat up, careful not to wake Victoria. “Let me help you,” he offered. He picked her up and carried her in his arms just like when she was small. _She is still small,_ he noted. She was a slender, tiny thing in his arms. His own reservations about all this kicked in—would she ever bulk up enough to be able to take down anyone in her way? Would she be able to take another fist to the face and come out of it with just a black eye? What if she was mugged by professionals next time? What if—

“47?” He looked up to see Diana waiting by the door for him. He hadn’t realized he was standing in the middle of Diana’s bedroom, immobile. “Come,” Diana called to him. He accepted her command.

Diana flitted about, opening and closing doors for him quietly. She pulled back the sheets to Victoria’s bed and tucked the covers around her when 47 carefully set her down. Victoria curled up on her side like a cocoon in her sleep. She was…so small.

He retreated to the bedroom door to let Diana fuss about as she pleased. She drew the drapes tighter than necessary and tucked Victoria in one last time for good measure, kissing her on the forehead, before turning off all the lamps.

They made their way back to the Master. They turned off all the lights and lay in her bed next to each other. She turned on her side to face him, tucking an arm under her pillow for support. He lay on his back, hands folded across his chest like a corpse. They spoke of everything and nothing. They talked of his day, his conversations with Victoria, his hopes and fears for her, and his plans to make her great. They talked of her day, upcoming contracts, her tutorial sessions with new Handlers, Board meetings, her reciprocated fears for Victoria. They spoke of Grey and Hall, and the duo’s plans to start a rival agency program and the civil war that Diana feared was brewing ahead of them. They laughed, and joked, and talked of the TV show they were watching ‘together’ but separately. They commented on their readings, what they ate, where they travelled to the week before. They spoke of office gossip. They spoke of each other.

When the grandfather clock downstairs struck 2 in the morning, they both were struggling to keep their eyes open. Sleep would mean the morning, and the morning would mean they would be apart again, for how long they couldn’t say. Their friendship didn’t rely on being together, but it was more fun than being apart. She reached out to squeeze his bicep and he touched her hand tenderly in response. He listened to hear her finally snoring softly. He closed his eyes. He was happy. He was content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't love overexplaining lore or easter eggs, but I feel like one thing is worth mentioning: Diana talking about being number 1 is a reference to "Overachievers," which is a one-shot short story written by HITMAN's lead writer, Michael Vogt. It's very short, hilarious and delightful. I would highly recommend giving it a read if you haven't done so already.
> 
> https://www.ioi.dk/overachievers/


	6. 47

47 woke up at 0600 in the exact same position he fell asleep in—on his back, hands folded over his chest. It was natural. He couldn’t help it. He turned to look at Diana. She was sprawled out on her stomach inelegantly, a foot dangling off the edge. He got up, careful not to disturb the mattress, and stepped around to opposite end of the bed. He bent down to kiss her on her forehead. Her fingers grabbed for his shirt when he leaned in. “Leaving already?” she mumbled, her eyes still closed. He hummed. “Call me at the safehouse.” She twisted around to wrap the sheets around her more selfishly.

“I will.”

“And tell Grey…tell Grey to fuck off when you see him.”

“For what?”

“No reason. I just like to keep him guessing.”

47 laughed softly. “I will, I promise.”

He returned to his bedroom to pack what little belongings he traveled with into his carry-on and emerged donning his signature suit. He wrote quick instructions to Diana on what to do about the suitcase that was left in the trunk of his car— _Kind offering from M. Dawson._ _Verify the bills are legit. Deposit into my account. Will make it up to you later. xx – 47_ —and left it on her office keyboard where he knew she would find it. He then made his way to the kitchen where he set to work to prepare breakfast.

It was true that Diana wasn’t fond of cooking, preferring to stick to the basics, but many were surprised to know that 47 enjoyed the task immensely. It was something he could do purely for his own benefit and not for anyone else. People erroneously called cooking an art. 47 found that it was closer to a science—good food could be calculated, just like anything else.

He pulled two gorgeous full English breakfast skillets out of the oven and set them both on the stove top, pleased with how they looked. As if on cue, Victoria came in rolling her carry-on suitcase in front of her with a sour look on her face. “Slept well?” he asked her, and she nodded wordlessly.

He watched as she wandered around the kitchen lifelessly, setting up a mug in the coffeemaker, slipping bread in the toaster, pulling out the Nutella from the pantry, taking hold of the still hot skillet with her bare hand without so much as a flinch. The Burnwood women were notoriously _not_ morning people.

He looked at her thoughtfully while he ate. She looked sharp—Diana would be proud. Her black eye was completely healed and she looked stylish in her black leather booties and oversized houndstooth blazer. The blazer in particular was becoming something of a signature look for her. He observed it with curiosity.

He stepped up to her and made her spin around for him, ignoring her protests. He checked the collar of her blazer, appraising the fit. “It’s thrifted,” she said, before he had the chance to ask where she got it from. She shrugged out of his grip and slathered on a generous amount of hazelnut spread on the two pieces of toast she had out before her.

“Thrifted?” he said, the word feeling foreign to him. She licked a finger clean of excess Nutella, giving him a look.

“Yeah, we can’t all be as bougie as you, Old Man.”

“Bougie?” he repeated. He filed that word away, making a mental note to look it up later. She took a huge bite of her sandwich and shoved a forkful of egg and tomato in the same helping. They ate in silence. 47 checked the time. 0645. They should be heading out soon.

Victoria helped him clean up the space as Diana would have wanted, and he ordered them a ride share. When it arrived to pick them up, Victoria seemed reluctant to leave with him. She loitered at the bottom of the stairs, peering up at them expectantly. He pitied her.

“She hates good-byes,” he told her.

Victoria seemed startled that he knew what she was thinking. She shuffled her feet. “I know. I just feel like I have so much more to say.”

“So does she, I think.” Victoria nodded sadly. “You’ll see her again soon,” he promised, taking her suitcase for her. She looked at the stairs longingly before following him out the door.

When the driver pulled away, Victoria couldn’t resist looking back one last time. He peeked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Diana bracing herself in the cold sitting at the Master balcony, a mug of hot tea in hand, watching the car. He glanced down at Victoria, who was struggling to not get emotional in front of him. He wrapped an arm around her when their car pulled out onto the road, and Diana was no longer in view. “I spend a lot of time on the phone with your mother,” he whispered. “You should call her too.”

Victoria nodded and she spent the rest of the drive in silence. 47 even indulged the Uber driver in some small talk—his absolute least favorite pastime—to let Victoria alone with her thoughts.

Even at this hour, Heathrow was a crowded mess. They passed through International security together, but when the time came for them to head their separate ways at alternative terminals, it was clear Victoria wasn’t ready to part ways. She fidgeted, staring at her feet. He pursed his lips and resisted the urge to check his watch, knowing that would be a rude thing to do. “We’ll see each other again soon,” he reminded her.

She nodded. “I know,” came the quick answer. He nodded awkwardly.

He felt stupid. Good-byes were not exactly his strong suit. Where Diana didn’t like them, he didn’t believe in them altogether, preferring the Irish method instead. Victoria however seemed to want closure of some sort. Perhaps all those lost years on her own made her realize how much she despised solitude after all. Was she ready for all the years of isolation ahead of her…?

He stopped himself before he continued to think like that. He and Diana had agreed on this front: it was her choice to make.

Victoria spoke, pulling him from his thoughts. “Are you going to be staying with Uncle Grey?”

“Yes. Laying low for a while until a contract comes through.”

“You can’t tell me where, I guess?” He shook his head. She shook her head, muttering about what a stupid question that was under her breath.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Headed to your next contract?” he asked her. She nodded again. “Well then, I’m looking forward to seeing the next case file, Flare.” Victoria looked up at him, her eyes glittering from a raw emotion that he couldn’t place. She cracked a smile and stepped to him for an embrace. He held her close and kissed her on the forehead.

He tugged on her earlobe before turning and walking away, intending to not look back. He didn’t believe in looking back.

“ _Hey!_ ” he heard from behind him, and he stopped in his tracks. “I’m going to beat you!” she cried out at him from across the terminal. “You’ll see! Agent Flare is going to be number 1!” He broke his own rule, turning just in time to see her spinning on her heel and hurrying off, her shoes clacking importantly beneath her. She held her chin up high, as though she had made some grand declaration of war, but when she thought he wasn’t looking rubbed her face against the sleeve of her blazer.

47 let himself smile. Well, she certainly knew how to make an exit. They all hated good-byes, then, the whole lot of them.

When he arrived at his gate, he settled into a chair as far away from people as possible and pulled out his phone, shooting a text to the first person in his contacts list.

 _She watches too much anime_ – he said.

 _Overly dramatic farewell?_ – came the quick response.

_Oh yeah._

He watched Diana’s _LOL_ come in before shooting a text to Grey, letting him know he was on his way. He almost put away his phone, before remembering something.

_Confirming departure from LHR @ 1000 hours._

_Car will be brought around.  
License plate 2GAT123. _

_Great._

_BTW Diana asked me to tell you to fuck off._

47 watched Grey type then delete several messages. He was no doubt being counseled by Olivia Hall on the appropriate response. He snickered when he saw a single middle finger emoji finally come through.

He sat and closed his eyes for a brief moment, before picking up his phone for one final purpose. First, flowers to the Padre and a card, promising to visit soon. Second, flowers to Diana, no note. No reason. Just because. Third, Burberry website. He scrolled through coats of all varieties, and debated with himself: black or khaki? His mind palace flipped through a slide deck of the brown houndstooth blazer he saw her in this morning. It was a good color on her. Black was Diana’s thing. Khaki, he decided.

 _Thrifted_ , he thought, shaking his head. _Thrifted?_ _Disgraceful._ He hated the fact that he liked it so much. No matter. He would break her of that habit too. _She’ll learn to appreciate a tailored fit._

Diana constantly accused him of spoiling her. He found it was an exercise in futility to try and argue with Diana on most things. When she was right, she was right. He typed in his credit card information from memory and submitted a confirmation for his purchase.

Whether as a mentor, as a father—or more recently a rival, apparently—what did it matter if he spoiled her? Victoria was all his to dote on.


	7. Epilogue: Diana

“Well, my love, it seems that your Papa has a penchant for spoiling the both of us.” Diana picked up the note that had come with the brand-new trench coat. _xx – 47._ Terse. To the point. She appreciated that about him. She set the note down beside a vase of bright beautiful gerberas that had been delivered with the box—a bouquet of gorgeous pinks and yellows and oranges—and lifted the coat from the box to admire it.

She allowed herself to smile widely. She was alone in her office aboard the _Jean Danjou II_ —No need to feign disinterest in order to keep up with appearances.

“He did tell me he was going to get me my own Burberry coat.” Victoria’s voice chirped in Diana’s ear as she brought the trench with her to her private cabin. “I just didn’t think it would come in so quickly. He must have bought it with the money we…uhh…”

“The money you what?” Diana prompted—not that she needed to; she already knew the answer. She slipped on the coat and buttoned it up, admiring herself in the mirror. She smiled even wider. It was perfect—as always. He knew what she liked.

“The—uhh—money he got from his latest contract?”

“Funded by Mr. Dawson?”

Diana heard Victoria groan through the earpiece. “How do you know about that already? You guys talk way too much…” Diana had to laugh at that. She took off the trench and hung it up in its newly appointed spot in her closet. This was perfect. Now she had a coat that could stay in London and another one for here. “How did he know where to ship it?” Victoria wondered.

“A mystery even I have yet to crack, darling. He is a man of many odd talents.” She stepped out of her closet and paced her cabin suite.

“You’re telling me… Has he ever taken you out to where he trains? It’s wild.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific. He has camps all around the world.”

“It’s so crazy.”

“Quite.” Diana stared out at the grey murky Scandinavian water from inside the sliding doors in her cabin. The tiny yacht cut through the rough water as mightily as it could muster. Diana had grown to love the rocking, having spent years developing her sea legs. She heard through the phone the sound of a siren whooshing by. She wondered not for the first time where Victoria was, but knew that wasn’t her business to keep tabs on. It was hard to force herself to let go, but she was trying to be better…

“Diana?” Victoria’s voice in her ear pulled her from her reverie.

“Yes, love?”

“Thanks again…for… Well, for everything, I guess. Just…thank you. I had fun last week. I’m glad I got to see you.”

“You’re welcome.” Diana pressed her forehead against the glass. Her heart trembled. She loved Victoria with every fiber of her being but couldn’t come up with the words to express it. So, she simply said: “And thank you…for being patient with me.”

They stayed on the phone for a few more minutes, chatting about nothing at all as Diana made her way back down the deck into her office.

“Well, darling, I’ll have to be going now,” she said, loath to end the conversation but determined to get to work. “A couple contracts have just come through that require my review. Do send Cindy my regards.”

“Hey, wait, before you go,” Victoria said hurriedly, “I just wanted to say… You and 47…this thing you guys have together.”

“Ahh…” Diana pursed her lips. This conversation may drag on longer than anticipated, but so be it. This was important. “Yes, did you have any questions about that?” 47 had mentioned Victoria knew about this now. It was probably for the best that they spoke of it freely. Victoria wasn’t a child anymore, and the contents of Diana’s will was relevant to her. If either her or 47 died, it was important to know what happened to the assets they owned. It was just smart logistically speaking. Morbid, but so was everything else about their lives.

“Uhh… No? No questions about it? I mean…I think I know how it works.” Victoria laughed nervously. “I’m just glad you and 47 are happy together.”

Diana blinked slowly. That was not the direction she was expecting Victoria to take this. “Pardon?”

“H-he told me. About you two. And I’m happy.” Diana felt a headache coming on. _Oh dear…_ She must have the wrong idea entirely.

“Whatever are you speaking of, darling?”

“Look, I know it’s dangerous to be—y’know—sleeping together—but I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide it from me anymore.” Diana felt like she needed to take a sip of water just for an excuse to do a spit take. “Anyway… I like the idea of my sort-of mom and sort-of dad being like…a couple, I guess. That’s all I wanted to say.”

Diana saw red for a moment. She was going to kill him. She only realized she had been totally silent when she heard Victoria calling her name.

“Diana? I-I hope I wasn’t overstepping any boundaries here…” Diana rubbed her temples.

“Not at all, darling. I only wish he hadn’t told you at all. As you mentioned: it’s dangerous.” _Dangerous to be spreading false rumors about yourself_ , she wanted to add. “We will talk again soon.”

Victoria agreed, and they said their farewells again before hanging up. Diana frowned. She strode to her station and swiped on her tablet, searching for her contacts. She pressed on the first name that appeared on her favorites. It only rang once in her ear before he picked up.

“Diana,” was the short greeting. He sounded as though he was expecting a call from her.

“Welcome aboard the _Jean Danjou II_ , 47,” she said, defaulting to her usual greeting. She crossed her arms, leaning against her desk.

“How does it fit?” he asked her. She tapped a finger against her arm and counted to three, just as her therapist had taught her.

“Wonderfully.”

“Your tone suggests otherwise.”

“I have a bone to pick with you.” He hummed non-commitally. “I just got off the phone with Victoria.”

“Oh, good.”

“No, not good,” she snapped. “Apparently I have been misinformed about what she knows.”

“I’m not following.”

“You told her about us?”

He hummed in understanding. “I did mention this to you,” he said, as though that should clear everything up. She frowned, pulling out a pink gerbera from the vase sitting innocently next to her. She didn’t like his flippant attitude…

“Hindsight. I would appreciate more precise intel in the future. Perhaps it will be useful to know what exactly you said to her.”

“I told her you’re the only woman I’ve ever slept with.”

Where was that water for the spit take? She ripped out a fistful of petals, taking out her shock on the flower in her hands instead. “What the fuck, 47…”

“What did you think I told her?”

“I thought you were talking about the civil union and our wills! _Not about our sex life!_ ” He hummed non-commitally but said nothing else. She could almost see his shrug. She wished she could reach through her earpiece and throttle him. “ ‘ _The only woman you’ve ever slept with_ ’ ?” she repeated exasperatedly.

“Well, technically—”

“Shall I define the term for you?”

“I know what it means.”

“Well then I shouldn’t have to explain to you that sleeping _next to_ and sleeping _with_ are decidedly different turns of phrase!”

“Like knowing someone versus knowing someone in the biblical sense,” he agreed good-naturedly.

Another fistful of petals were torn out, the flower becoming more naked by the minute. “Is this a joke to you?” She was beyond infuriated.

“I think it’s good to keep her on her toes. Make sure she doesn’t get used to believing everything I tell her.”

The stem snapped in half in her hands before she realized what she had done. “For the love of God…” she muttered, dropping the tortured remains of the flower in the wastebin before storming off in search of a vacuum to clean up the petals and pollen that had accumulated all around her. She heard a chair creak over the phone—47 leaning back, perhaps—and then a low rumble of a chuckle. He began to laugh out loud. A hard, sincere belly laugh. It had been a long time since Diana had heard him laugh like this, and she wasn’t pleased it was at her expense. She tried to drown out his mirth with the loud whirring of the vacuum but it didn’t help much.

“How quickly will this spread?” he said at last, when he was able to speak again. Diana flopped herself into her desk chair, burying her face into her hands. Knowing Victoria’s Handler as well as Diana did, Cindy Kim would probably text the entire department in a matter of hours. Diana had incredible respect for her protegee, but the girl loved her office gossip…

“Damn you.”

“Three days?” She wanted to break something. Preferably his face.

Diana groaned. “Goddamn you to hell…”

“People have been speculating for years.”

“We don’t have to confirm it for them!”

He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding apologetic at all. “I thought it was funny. You’re right, this could come back to bite us.” Diana heard him stand and move to another room, shutting the door behind him. “But don’t act coy. You know it isn’t a lie. You _are_ the only woman I’ve ever slept with…” He spoke in a low pointed tone that make her face flush and heart race.

She was once again grateful she was alone. She didn’t have a rebuttal for him, so she stayed silent on the phone. She heard him sit down again, laughing softly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“No, you’re not.”

“No,” he agreed. “Now I need to ask: Did you even receive a package?”

Diana reached across her desk and picked up the note again with his handwriting. “Yes, I did. I suppose I ought to thank you for this.”

“No need. It’s to make up for everything that happened.”

She traced a finger across where he wrote his name. “You didn’t have to,” she said, in lieu of a thanks.

“I wanted to,” he said, in lieu of a _you’re welcome_.

“The flowers are beautiful,” she said, avoiding looking at the tattered remains of the flower in the garbage. “I’m still cross with you though.”

“I’ll have to send something else, then.”

“Perhaps I will find it in my heart to forgive you.” He hummed in response, suspicious. “But if it’s not Billini then I don’t want it,” she added.

He sighed before responding. “I will see what I can do,” he said, a smile coming through in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s notes: I love the idea of leaving the nature 47 and Diana’s relationship ambiguous. Whether you find it amusing or frustrating or some combination of both… I agree >:)
> 
> THANK YOU dear reader for reading through what was supposed to be a simple little 4 chapter drabble that ended up becoming a full-blown adventure nearly twice as long! I absolutely adore these characters and am HYPED for Hitman 3 to come out soon.


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